


How to Be Normal

by Sassaphrass



Series: How-To's For Ex-Assassins [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Domestic Fluff, Even Bruce, Fluff and Angst, Former Assassins try to be normal, Gen, Identity Issues, Past Abuse, Protective Damian Wayne, Protective Dick Grayson, Unreliable Narrator, everyone is trying their best, it goes better than you'd think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2019-08-07 17:03:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 83,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16412429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassaphrass/pseuds/Sassaphrass
Summary: Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne are former assassins trying to live a normal life, but leaving the world of heroes and villains behind is difficult when Batman keeps calling, and visiting, and taking them out for lunch.Sequel to "The Care and Keeping of Assassins"





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Sequel to "The Care and Keeping of Assassins", you probably should read that if you want this to make sense, but summary is: Undead Talon Dick Grayson befriended Damian Wayne during the time Bruce was dead and they ran away to Wisconsin to try and live normal lives. 
> 
> This story takes place about a year after the events of the first story.

Damian gets his first ever birthday cake the year he turns twelve. Like all the things in his life with a toe-hold on normalcy this is  Grayson’s doing. He presents it to Damian alight with candles. The cake is pink and has “Happy Birthday Damian” written painstakingly in green frosting, this colour combination is equal parts baffling and endearing. 

                                                                                   

Damian draws on his theatre training to feign delighted surprise, because he knows that Dick put a lot of time into making this a surprise. At some point Dick had absorbed the idea that surprise is something pleasant associated with the birthdays of children as opposed to an element intrinsic to attacking unexpectedly and with deadly consequence (Damian blames day time American TV for this).

 

It’s a pistachio cake with pomegranate frosting, and Damian is a little afraid to ask where in the world Dick Grayson had found the recipe. Dick does most of the cooking and since he doesn't eat more than a couple bites every other week his understanding of flavours is mostly based on theoretical concepts. 

 

Dick stands there, hands clasped in front of him like some insipid little child witnessing a bunnies first steps, and Damian....Damian doesn’t have the heart to disappoint him. So he eats the cake, even though, honestly he’d have been happy enough with plain chocolate. Or white cake, or any of a thousand other things, but Dick has been watching television and has gotten it into his head that birthday cakes Are Important, and so here Damian sits eating a ridiculous cake prepared for him by an undead former assassin, and pretending he wasn’t well aware that Dick had spent the better part of two weeks learning first how to bake and then how to back this cake in particular because he thought the flavours were Middle Eastern.

  
The last time someone had celebrated his birthday had been when he turned ten and defeated his mother (along with a significant chunk of the league of assassins) in combat in order to win his father’s name.

When he turned eleven Father had been dead and Drake and Todd understandably too distracted with other matters to be overly concerned with Damian’s date of birth.

 

Damian supposes he should feel lucky, he’s come a long ways from both of those birthdays, but he’s not sure he’s traveled anywhere worth going.

 

He lives a different sort of life now, it’s true, and one that certainly should be more pleasant.

 

He goes to school and more than that he goes to a school at his own level even if it is under the assumed identity of ‘Robin Smith’, and is able to talk with people who are his intellectual peers, and occasionally to his great surprise and delight he will encounter someone who’s mind works in ways beyond what his own can manage and it’s-

 

It’s so much better than sitting across from some brilliant man or woman his mother had kidnapped for the betterment of his education and who’s body he would see once he surpassed them and his mother disposed of that which was no longer useful.

 

And he has the Talon- Dick Grayson, who is probably the only person he’s ever met who has accepted Damian as being completely adequate and needing no improvement.

 Of course, they’re currently in exile in Wisconsin of all places but they are well out of the path of both supervillains and superheroes and that is...nice.

 

 

So, Damian sits at the table and swings his legs and eats the honestly slightly nauseating cake and when Dick slides a package across the table to him and he finds a book of Ancient Persian poetry it’s probably the closest anyone has ever gotten to a present he actually wants (except for when Father bought him Titus, because Titus is wonderful and better than anyone else ever).

 

It’s a good day, but it’s a day like any other too (though Grayson has decided that since it’s his birthday Damian doesn’t need to attend any of his lectures if he doesn’t want to, and Damian decides today, at least, he doesn’t want to).

 

His status at the university is one of the many little wrinkles in their attempts at normalcy that they have both independently decided to ignore. Damian had been allowed to enrol on a probationary basis after Grayson’s academic fraud had been discovered but his relationships with both faculty and students remain...strained at best.

 

He’d been a novelty at first, something the students in his classes considered ‘cute’, but that novelty has long since worn off.

 

Because, Damian is himself no matter where he goes or what name he pretends to and despite his denials to Drake he is becoming increasingly aware that there are aspects of who he is that are...lacking.

 

Namely, people skills and an ability to interact with others in a non-violent, non-rigidly structured way.

 

So, unlike Dick who, in the semester that he’d pretended to be a university student to act as Damian’s cover for attending the university, had managed to collect half-a dozen loose acquaintances and a few actual friends- one of whom had been so attached to Dick that even being outed as a fraud whose younger brother was actually doing all his coursework hadn’t chased him away.

 

Damian has no friends. He has few positive relationships with his professors, most of whom were not amused by the whole academic fraud thing and (rightly) assumed he had received leniency due to his civilian identities mysterious connection to the billionaire philanthropist Bruce Wayne.

 

Damian went to school, he came home, he trained, he looked after his pets, and that was really it. Despite all efforts he had failed to make meaningful connections with any of his peers.

 

Dick meanwhile was blossoming now that he was no longer a silent harbinger of death carrying out the bidding of shadowy masters. He had a friend. He was on a first name basis with almost every employee in every business that was within a three block radius of their apartment.

 

He was practicing yoga and intended to take a certification course to become an instructor as soon as he manages to claw his way up to the depressingly low standards required of the General Education Diploma.  

 

He had taken the necessity of wearing makeup and turned it into a semi-artisitc hobby in which he developed what he called ‘looks’ and spent what Damian felt was a truly excessive amount of time photographing himself sporting them.

 

He went to a support group for victims of Superhero and Supervillain violence.

 

He watched incredibly irritating and saccharine musical films from the 1950’s and attempted to learn the dance moves (Damian had been forced to put his foot down and had informed the Talon that if he purchased tap-shoes Damian would have no choice but to destroy them with extreme prejudice).

 

He went out at night under the guise of checking for signs of the League of Assassins or the Bats of Gotham but half the time Damian knew he was just drinking at a bar or practicing parkour or any number of other things.

 

 

Damian just studied, wrote essays, and worked on mathematical problems. English was his second language so the logical snarls of his English Literature class were engrossing.

 

He didn’t, strictly speaking, _enjoy_ reading novels, but there was something morbidly fascinating about dissecting them, taking this emotional illogical form and stripping it down to the moving parts. His professor had described his essay work as ‘vicious’ which Damian felt was an equivocal adjective and had probably not been meant in a positive way despite the fact that Damian had always worn it as an accolade.

 

He was forced to take an introductory psychology class to satisfy an elective requirement. Despite his rigorous education most of what he learns are concepts he’s never encountered before. Grandfather did not hold with talking cures, and as far as Damian is aware psychological difficulty and disorders were never even mentioned within the League of Assassins despite the fact that their leader tended to succumb to ‘madness’ at least every few years and enact some sort of bizarre illogical plot.

 

Mother had apparently decided to follow her father’s example these days.

 

The class provided terms and definitions for familiar concepts.  He’d never heard any of these words before but he was intimately familiar with many of the topics discussed in class.

 

“ _Learned helplessness_ ” was when a person or animal stops trying to escape a painful situation because they had learned that their attempts were futile and so even when there was opportunity to escape they remain. It was first documented in labratory animals who failed to attempt to escape negative stimulus despite being given the opportunity.

 

“ _Maslowe’s hierarchy of needs posits that all individuals will prioritize physiological needs and physical safety over social connections, and love.”_   Though, according to the literature this was contradicted by the results of a disturbingly cruel experiment done on baby monkeys which forced them to choose between comfort and sustenance, and without exception the babies chose comfort and so starved to death.

 

The most comforting all the things he’d learned was that the terms ‘sociopath’ and ‘psychopath’ were considered outdated and inaccurate. It’s such a relief, as if just by reading the textbook Damian had untangled himself from the barbs of the most powerful insult that Tim and Jason had liked to throw his way.

 

The term now is ‘Anti-social personality disorder’, and it was considered more of a spectrum _“typified by a failure to conceptualize other people as complete sentient beings and lack of empathy”_. There’s more, of course, it’s a complex disorder, and it’s fair of Tim and Jason to apply it to Damian. There had definitely been moments where he had behaved in a manner that is consistent with the pattern of behaviour that would warrant a diagnosis.

 

He hadn’t been diagnosed, obviously, you can’t be until you’re over 18.

 

To Damian’s immense relief there are treatment options though, there’s even a facility in Wisconsin with a sterling record for rehabilitating repeat offenders displaying extreme symptoms, almost all of whom had been labelled psychopaths at some point. Unfortunately to be admitted you need to be transferred from a juvenile detention facility.

 

He knew Dick wouldn’t approve. That the Talon would insist Damian isn’t a psychopath, and he has changed. It doesn’t change the fact that Damian fits many of the characteristics typical of an extreme case of anti-social personality disorder: violence, impulsivity, manipulation of others, fragile ego, and charming to get him way.

  
Those suffering from the disorder who receive treatment are much less likely to commit a serious violent crime than the average juvenile offender.

 

Of course there are lots of ways he doesn’t fit the diagnosis, but, it made him feel better to know that even if his worst fears about himself are realized there’s still hope.

 

It doesn’t matter what Dick’s opinion on the facts are. The reality is increasingly clear: Damian cannot function at even such a low bar of normalcy as the one Dick had set.

 

His progress, such as it is, has plateau-ed. He no longer reacts violently immediately. He is no longer so paralyzed by paranoia that he can’t be away from Grayson or his pets for any significant period of time.  

 But, he was still rude and frustrated with everyone he meets. He was cruel without intending it, and he was constantly tense. The hypervigilance had barely changed.

 

That just makes him more frustrated and more irritable. He practiced piano and furiously mashed out Beethoven, desperately tried to master the delicate complicated finger movements of Debussy. The Debussy made him smile and tingle at the thrill of rebellion, even though it is gentle delicate music.  Grandfather had Not Approved of modern composers.  Damian learned every single one of Stravinsky’s piano concerto’s purely out of spite (Grandfather had particularly disliked Stravinsky for some reason).

 

But, Beethoven, Beethoven is the best. His fingers are still too short to have any strength behind his chords, but that doesn’t matter. Beethoven is storms and rages and something that mirrors all the things that Damian feels but can’t express or contain.

 

Dick liked the Debussy though. He liked the pretty elegant sound of it. He aped ballet positions and flitted around the living room whenever Damian played it and if Damian misses the beat or fumbles a note than Dick will jerk and correct himself.

 

Damian used to play the violin. He’s not sure why he doesn’t anymore. It would be easy to get another and he had been relatively accomplished. But he had played because it was expected and he had excelled because it was expected and he had chosen music based on what would impress and...

 

....and a piano sounds less lonely if you’re playing by yourself.

 

                Not that Damian was by himself. He’s less alone than he’s ever been in his entire life, actually. Even if there are less people in his world now. But, he has Dick Grayson, a former assassin current undead yoga student who understands him, and who dances around the room on tiptoe when he plays Debussy and Titus who loves him and waits by the door for him to come home from school, and Alfred the Cat who pretends not to care but who always comes and curls up on Damian’s lap if he’s upset and...

 

...and maybe it’s not a life worthy of a Wayne or an Al Ghul but, according to Maslowe it’s the closest Damian’s ever been to self-actualisation (Physiological needs met, Safety needs met, Love and Acceptance found, Esteem...working on it).

 

He pushes the empty plate back towards Dick who is watching him eat it expectantly. "Did you like it?" the former assassin asked, looking slightly apprehensive. 

 

Damian grins. "Yes, and I have a birthday surprise for you too!" 

 

Dick frowns. "Damian! It's your brithday, you're not supposed to get stuff for me."   
  


Damian smirks, and wanders over to the piano, Titus follows him, hoping that he still has some cake and might decide to give it to Titus, despite all evidence to the contrary. 

He'd been working on this surprise for a while, though he hadn't planned on unveiling it today. It's just something he's absolutely sure Dick will like, even if it is something Damian can't stand. 

 

He opens the piano, pulls a face where Dick can’t see it and begins forming the chords to a song he’d never thought he’d play.

 

He hears Dick squeak in excitement and then his brother comes sliding into the room across the hardwood floors in his sock feet.

 

“Damian!” the former assassin squeals. “Did you learn this for me?!”

 

Damian grins over his shoulder without missing a beat in Scott Joplin’s ‘the Entertainer”. Dick laughs and claps his hands and then begins trying to do the Charleston while Titus runs around barking at all the excitement. 

 

“Thanks for the birthday cake.” Damian says, when he gets to the end of the page and Dick shimmies over to turn it for him "It's the first birthday cake I've ever had". Dick grins and Damian is so used to his yellow eyes, and dead white skin that he barely even notices how frightening they might be to someone else.

 

“You're Welcome Damian!” Grayson chirps, before dancing off again. 


	2. Step 1: Find Hobbies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick Grayson was murdered several years ago, and it's very important that he not look dead. Enter something called "Sephora"...Damian is not so sure this is a good idea.

Jason Todd had noticed that the Talon wore make-up right away, when he’d found the former assasssins hiding out in Wisconsin. You’d have to be blind to miss it and it made sense. Talon wore sunglasses to protect his sensitive eyes and he wore makeup to hide the fact that he’d been murdered several years ago. 

 

Jason had also noticed that Talon’s makeup had edged away from “Practical effect to cover unntural skin tone” and more into “I’m feeling the artistry of Instagram move through me” on probably the second official visit by Bruce to visit Damian. 

Jason had been there as back-up, and Talon had been there as the usual overprotective brother/bodyguard that he always was. 

 

They’d been sitting on a park bench watching Bruce and Damian make awkward conversation as they strolled around the park, and Jason had glanced over his sunglasses at Richard and been surprised to notice irridenscent highlighter on his cheekbones. 

 

“You know that makes you look a little gay, right?” Jason had asked, blunt as a two-by-four to the face. 

 

“What?”  

 

“According to societal convention it makes you look like you’re a homosexual.” He figures the guy lives with the Demon-brat he must have gotten used to communicating via. Textbook jargon.  

 

The undead former-assassin has blinked. “What does makeup have to do with-“ 

 

Jason cuts him off. “Nothing, it’s just a thing. A dumb western culture has issues, thing.” 

 

The Talon had thought about it. “Should I not wear makeup?” he asked sounding genuinely bewildered by the conversation. 

 

Jason had laughed. “No, you should definitely wear make-up. Let’s try and keep a semi-low profile. Please.” He had frowned in Bruce’s general direction, because it looked like he was giving Damian a firm business like handshake? He shakes his head, because that is not his problem and turns back to the Talon.  “I just thought I’d let you know about the gay thing, in case you were unaware.” 

 

Talon had blinked and nodded. “Okay. Good to know. Thanks for the tip.”

 

Jason had returned the nod with a smile, and pushed his sunglasses back up. “Sure. Anytime.”

 

Jason isn’t sure if that technically counts as encouragement and therefore makes the current situation technically his fault. He thinks it’s probably okay, but he’s willing to regret just about anything that may have caused the current situation to happen. 

 

Because, he is watching a Youtube makeup tutorial with Timothy Drake-Wayne. Obviously the Devil has gotten creative and made a brand new cirlce of hell just for Jason Todd. 

 

The video shows a well lit young man with perfect bonestructure and a face covered in a flat colour of foundation. 

 

_“Okay, so we’re doing a more subtle look today, and umm..something I haven’t really talked about yet is the difference between dramatic looks that photograph well, but look kind of super weird in real life, and more subtle looks that don’t photograph well, but look cuter IRL…I tend to post a lot of dramatic stuff just because I do like messing around and coming up with it, but I have nowhere to wear it sooo…”_

Tim frowns at the screen and swivels on his chair to look at Jason where he is cleaning his guns at the work table next to the Batmobile. 

 

“Did you know about this?” 

 

Jason frowns and then glances at the screen. He winces as he recognizes it. “Oh, yeah. Damian sent me a link. I thought it was probably okay.”

 

Tim swivels back. “He’s in hiding!” He hisses, gesturing wildly. “He’s an undead assassin! And he made a Youtube channel?!” 

 

Jason shrugs. “It’s a makeup-tutorial channel, and he has like a hundred subscribers. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. They’re trying to be normal. Normal people who have as much makeup as Richard Grayson tend to have channels and Instagram selfie accounts. It’s just fact Tim, get with the times. Jeeeez.”

 

Tim grits his teeth. “Most people aren’t covering up major physiological changes that are the result of unethical experimentation conducted on them as children, by a group of whom some members are still at large.”

 

Jason makes a face. “Look, he’s careful. He uses a backdrop, he starts the video with a basecoat on and all he talks about is makeup. It’s fine.”

 

Tim shakes his head. “It’s _not_ fine. He’s putting himself and Damian in danger.” 

 

Jason snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yes, upon glitter eyeshadow all our fates rest.” 

 

Tim shoots him a venomous glance. “You think it’s going to be funny when Talia shows up? The Court is insane enough that I’d buy they don’t even use the internet, but the League is probably already monitoring this channel.” 

 

Jason heaves a heavy sigh through his nostrils.

  
“You want to stop him, you have to figure out how because…I haven’t got a fucking clue.” 

 

 

 

 

 

Bruce surreptitiously opens a tab while loitering at the office waiting for a meeting to start. He feels stupid. 

 

But, the fact of the matter is Damian hardly ever contacts him. And when Bruce reaches out it is…awkward and painful. It’s easier to keep his distance. 

 

And Bruce has no interest in makeup, but Richard occasionally makes little references to Damian. Nothing concrete, nothing dangerous. Just little things, things that Damian would never tell Bruce himself. 

 

Like, the fact that he bought electric blue eyeshadow to cheer up Dick, or that he was the one that used to do Dick's makeup when he first started wearing it. 

 

It shouldn't ping any redflags if anyone is monitoring either Bruce or the account. He's using an office computer and Wayne Tower has hundreds of employees. 

 

Besides even if someone does track it to him it fits with his public persona. Bruce doubts it would even raise eyebrows that he spent ten minutes watching a very handsome young man smile and apply makeup. 

 

_Dick Grayson grins on screen and hold up an eyeshadow. “So this is new and it is so great, the level of pigment is just…amazing! I have the best little brother!”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

Damian is reviewing his Biology reading before class, carefully highlighting sections he wants to ask about when a girl stops in front of his seat.  

 

He looks up with an inquisitive expression. His classmates rarely approach him outside of group work. She holds out her phone. 

 

“Is this your brother?” 

 

The phone is open to Dick's Instagram account where he posts photos of his makeup. 

 

Damian scowls. “Yes.” 

 

He knew the account was a risk but he had foolishly assumed that Richard would blend in with the other morons and not attract too much attention. A quick glance confirms that his subscribers have jumped from just over a hundred to nearly a two hundred and fifty in the last few days.

 

“Do you think he could show me how to do this look?!” she asks and Damian is taken aback by her sudden intensity. 

 

“Uhhh…I don’t know?”

 

She is still staring at him. 

 

“I'll ask him…?” he adds. 

 

She nods and scribbles her number on his textbook page. “PLEASE DO.”

 

Damian stares after her as she storms back to a group of equally made-up young ladies hovering near the vending machine. 

 

Dick picks him up after class, walking right by the girl in question. Not that she gives him another glance. He’s wearing his wrap around shades that make him look like a senior citizen, as well as sweat pants and an adidas hoodie with an eyesearingly ugly print featuring stylized diamonds. The flawlessly applied make-up gets lost in all the other visual noise. 

 

“Hey, Robin!” Richard grins. “Anything interesting happen?” 

 

Damian shuts his book. “No, Xander. Nothing at all.”

 

Dick bounces on his heels and looks around. Turning like that pulls his sweeatpants closer to his body and Damian can see the outline of the knives  Dick still wears strapped to his thigh most days. 

 

“Actually,”Damian corrects. “A girl asked about your Instagram account. She seemed to really like it.”

 

“oh.”

 

Richard seems less excited by the news than Damian had anticipated. “I hadn’t thought I had enough followers to…” Richard bites his lip and Damian has his arms full so he can’t swat him to make him stop. “Should I delete it?”

 

Damian shrugs. “Jason insists it’s fine. Tim doesn’t like that you have it.” 

 

“What does Bruce say?” 

 

Damian shrugs again. “Nothing. As usual.” 

 

Dick chomps down viciously and bites clean through his lip. Damian makes a small involuntary noise of alarm and Dick realizes immediately what he’s done and puts his hands up to hide his mouth and hold the bits of flesh together. 

 

Damian shifts his books around and grabs the front of Dick’s sweater. He tows him out of the building. 

 

By the time they get to the car the Talon’s lip has healed and he drives them home. 

 

 

 

 

Dick hovered anxiously around the apartment that afternoon. He could tell it was obvious. Alfred and Ttitus were both clearly picking up on his mood and upset by it, and though Damian was busy working on a math proof at the dinning room table it was obvious that he was watching Dick as he paced the apartment, rearrangin things and then putting them back the way they’d been before. 

 

Finally he checks the time and looks at Damian. “I’m going to go out.” 

 

Damian snaps his textbook shut decisively. “I can come with you.  This isnt important.”

 

Dick bites his lip and Damian immediately points and yells “LIP!” 

 

Dick stops. “I’m going to a support group.”

 

 Damian frowns and sits back down. “Fine.”

 

Dick heads out. 

 

 

 

The church basement these meetings are in smells like mold and coffee strong enough to strip paint. Dick has come to actually enjoy the

smell. 

 

Wisconsin isn’t actually a hub of Supervillain activity so this chapter is small, maybe a dozen or so regulars as well as a couple dozen less than regulars. 

 

In all honesty Dick has almost nothing in common with any of the other members. But, he went to a support group for survivors of childhood abuse, who he theoretically might have had more in common with, and the whole thing had triggered his paranoia to a debilitating extent because Dick was used to the dangerous people helpfully wearing identifying masks, or youn know belonging to secret organizations that were very completely and unabiguously evil.

The idea that literally _anyone_ on the street could be capable of the sort of shit he’d had to live through had never even crossed hi mind before he’d gone to that meeting and the subsequent backslide into hypervigilance and hiding under the bed had made Damian put his foot down and more or less ban him from going to any more of those. 

 

So, Supervillain Survivors it was, and honestly it was a much more pleasant group anyway. 

 

“Does anyone want to share?” the moderator asks. 

 

Dick raises his hand self-consciously. 

 

She smiles. “Yes, Xander.”

 

Dick licks his lips. “I wear makeup.” He gestures to his face as though they might have missed it somehow. “And, I started an Instagram page and youtube channel for it, just for fun because there’s not a lot teaching boys how to do makeup, and it wasn’t very popular for a long time. But, now it’s starting to be and people are leaving all these comments and it…” he trails off, embarassed. 

 

“Go on, honey.” One of the ladies in the group prods. 

 

Dick feels himself hunching up protectively. “They talk about how I'm so good looking, or sexy of whatever and it feels….” He bites his lip, realizes what he’s doing and stops. “It never used to feel like lying. Wearing makeup, it was just fixing something that had gotten fucked up, so I didn’t think about looking good, it was just about not looking scary. But, now it feels like I’m lying. Because they think I’m one thing and I’m not.”

 “I feel like I’m wearing a costume now. It didn’t feel like that before, but I don’t have the option of not covering it up because otherwise...”

 

They all not sympathetically. Most of them come because they’re trauma makes them freaked out about being targeted by a viallin again. A few of them also have large scars or obvious permanent injuries. 

 

One of them pipes up. “Can I ask, is it that they’re looking at you at all or is it _the way_ that they’re looking at you?”she asks gently. 

 

Dick hugs himself. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean they’re saying you’re hot and sexy and…other stuff right? Is it what they’re saying or just the idea of being looked at at all?”

 

Dick blinks. “I don’t know. Both, either.”

 

“’Cause if you made a make-up account on Instagram you must have known people would look at it.”

 

And Dick feels so stupid because, _he hadn’t_. Or at least it hadn’t occurred to him that people would be reacting to him in way that he didn’t expect and couldn’t control.

 

Dick Grayson is pretty. Actually, he’s probably a step beyond pretty, with his makeup on he’s drop dead gorgeous. If someone were to compile a list of the most beautiful people on campus he’d make the top ten easily, the only reason he’d hesitate to say he’d definitely be in the top five is this is a big campus, there are some stunning girls floating around, and he doesn’t technically go there anymore, having been formally expelled because Damian had been the one actually doing his classwork..

 

But, with makeup, yeah, he’s definitely one of the most beautiful people at the university of Madison. And he doesn’t even go there.

 

Without it, there’s not a person on campus who wouldn’t try and shoot, stab or otherwise maim him if they met in a dark alley.

 

It’s weird knowing this. He’d never really thought about how he looked before, outside of the obvious signs of his transformation into the Talon.

 

He didn’t _like_ that his skin was white, or the way the veins showed black through it’s translucent layers. He didn’t _like_ that his eyes were yellow and sensitive to light. But, except for these obvious signs of difference, of tampering with the natural order and making him into something less than human, it was really impossible to overstate how little Dick Grayson had thought about his appearance, and why woud he?

 

He’d spent most of his life living behind a _literal mask_ , surrounded by other people who all also wore masks, and who, on top of that, didn’t think of him as human.

 

So, the fact that he was handsome, something they hadn’t discovered until well into their time in Wisconsin, had taken him completely by surprise.

 

Well, he wasn’t _actually_ handsome, but he _would have been_ , if he hadn’t been murdered. Or he had been, maybe was the right grammar? He _had been_ handsome, under the mask, before he’d been murdered by the Court of Owls and resurrected as a Talon. It was just there’d been no one to see it.

 

It was confusing, because people _looked_ at him now. They’d turn their heads to watch him go past on days when he’d got his makeup just right, and looked convincingly alive. They do it on other days as well, though on those days people turning to watch him go by has more to do with the novelty of a boy wearing that much makeup in Madison Wisconsin than with his underlying beauty.

 

The thing is, he’d started doing the makeup because he had to do it to look like a person, and he’d gotten intense about it because he wanted to be good at something that wasn’t killing.

 

It was different for Damian who was smart and young and could draw, play music and train animals. Literally the only things Dick could do were killing and mayhem related. Damian had had to teach him how to use a credit card.

 

Damian had had to teach him how to do makeup too.

 

Except there’s something terrible about seeing what he might have looked like. It makes it easier to consider who he would have been, and he hadn’t really thought much about that before. There hadn’t been room for it, in the mess that had been just trying to exist, and trying to protect Damian and trying to be normal-

 

The makeup hadn’t been about making other people look at him. It had just been for fun, and he’d  made the videos and taken the pictures to show off the makeup he was doing and so other boys who wanted to wear makeup but didn’t want to look like girls could learn from his experiments. It hadn’t been about him.

 

He wasn’t used to being _looked at._

 

He just shrugs. “I’m not used to people paying attention. I thought I’d get a few other boys who wanted to try stuff out and it wouldn’t be...it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

 

The lady sighs. “I don’t think it is, but I think if you’re uncomfortable or it’s stopped making you happy, then maybe you should stop.”

 

Dick nods.

 

 

 

 

He goes home. Damian is waiting, still at the kitchen table doing math proofs. Dick does a quick sweep of the perimeter, and then locks himself in the bathroom.

 

He puts a towel over the mirror and takes his makeup off. He grips the sink and tries to breathe. Being something other than a dead killer hadn’t really occurred to him. Or at least it had never seemed like a real possibility. He was the Gray Son of Gotham. He was always going to end up standing in the centre of that damn maze wearing that stupid mask and those idiotic goggles and killing people for his masters.

 

The further he gets away from that though, the more he sees that it _wasn’t_ inevitable. The more he sees the edges of the person he could have been: Pretty and kind and probably a bit empty headed. An Olympic level gymnast though his parents would never have had the money for the sort of coaching and competitions that led to the Olympics, but he’d have been one hell of an acrobat, probably good enough to leave Haley’s and go to Vegas and work for Cirque du Soleil or something.

 

Good enough to try for that at least.

 

The thing about wearing the face of a him that hadn’t died was it made him think about how he _had_ died. It made him realize dying _hadn’t been inevitable_. How many people had known the court was taking him away? How many people had worked for the Court? If _even one_ of them had done anything....he probably would have lived. 

 

And that’s just so fucking unfair.

 

Dick takes the towel off the mirror and stares at himself. He isn’t sure what he should be feeling. This, after all, is the face he was used to. It was the face Damian had made it clear he preferred. It is pale and veined and the eyes are a horrible yellow. It is the face of a dead man but it doesn't disgust Dick. It's just his face. The same as it has been for ages.

 

They’d thought they could change, Damian and him. But, he’s dead. He can’t change, no matter how much he might want to. And all it would have taken was _one person..._  one person to _do something_ , and he wouldn’t be dead.

 

 The thought hadn't occured to him before. It makes him angry.

 

He slips one of his throwing knives out of where he still almost always wears them strapped to his wrist and wings it as hard as he can into the wall. It vibrates there for a satisfying amount of time, but then

                                                       then his eye catches on the handle- shaped like a stylized owl and no matter what he does, he can’t escape them, because he _is_ them. _They_ made _him_.

 

He punches the wall.

 

“fuck.” He mutters, resting his head against the framed quotation he’d bought to decorate his bathroom:  _Falling down is an accident, staying down is a choice._ From this close he can only read the word ‘choice’.

 

He takes a minute, and takes a breath.

 

He hears a light tapping on the door.

 

“Richard? Are you alright? I heard a noise...”

 

Dick closes his eyes. He remembers those videos he’s been watching. He’s the adult here. He needs to act like it. He was the person who’d stepped in and done something for Damian. He was the one person who'd done something and changed who Damian is going to be. He isn’t going to let him down.

 

“Yeah, Damian!” he calls. “Just lost my temper at my eyeliner and threw it and knocked something over.”

 

There a long pause. Damian probably doesn’t believe him, but that’s alright. As long as he doesn’t know his guardian is having an existential crisis because of makeup of all things.

 

Dick sighs and uses his fingers to comb his hair away from his face.

 

Wait

 

Dick grabs a hank of hair and pulls it straight, measuring the length against where it fell on his face.  He combs it away from his face and stares again. 

 

Dick blinks and wanders into the kitchen where Damian is working on some sort of math that involved a lot of swooping lines. 

 

Dick sits down and pillows his head in his arms on the table. 

 

“So…how’s math?” he asked. 

 

Damian punches something into his calculator and doesn’t look up. “ A point of artifical logic and consistancy, in a chaotic and  uncertain world.”

 

“So…the same as always?”

 

That makes Damian almost smile and this time he looks up. “Yes, Richard. Same as always.”

 

Dick smiles at him. “Speaking of an ever changing world. My hair is longer.”

 

Damian frowns, and cocks his head. “Really?”

 

Dick nods. “That must mean I’m alive right?”

 

Damian rolls his eyes very dramatically.”You’ve _always_ been alive. You’re sitting here talking to me! There’s never been any doubt that in some way you are-“ he stops and his brow furrows.  “You’re hair has grown?” 

 

Dick nods. 

 

Damian frowns in concentration and flips to a blank page in his work book. He starts scribbling very quickly. Dick tries to read what it is, but can’t manage to read Damian’s neat cursive upsidedown.  

 

“You can eat. I’ve seen you do it. But, rarely, right?

 

Dick nods and makes a face. “The whole thing is very…unpleasant.” 

 

Damian nods, making a note. Then he looks up. “DO you get thirsty? You drink all the time when we go out and you don’t want to draw attention at restaurants, so I assue the process is less uncomfortable for you, but do you ever actually just...get thristy?” 

 

Dick thinks about it and then slowly nods. “Yeah, every few days I need to drink something.”

 

Damian looks down at his notes and then frowns. 

 

“Damian?  What are you thinking?"

 

“I’ve always assumed that, despite the scientific methods the Owls used in some areas, the bulk of your current state must have a strong magical element. After all there’s no biological explanation for continued resurrection- even in extreme healing factors they usually do not preclude actual brain destruction which is not a limitation that the Talons have.”

 

Dick nods. 

 

“However, you seemed to be, forgive me fore this, but more dead than alive and  any magic was as much keeping you alive at this point as anything else. However, if your hair is growing, and you need to drink water…it may be that you are still biologically alive and that your systems have just been slowed down immeasurably. Like a Greenland shark or something.”

 

“So, you could fix me?”

 

Damian blinks and flips back to his homework. “No. I couldn’t fix you, but Father or Mother might know someone who can. There are Magic users in the Justice league, without a doubt.”

 

Dick bites his lip and sighs. He still doesn’t trust Bruce Wayne, for all that he has been forced to accept the reality that Bruce was not a threat to him or Damian. 

 

Dick sighs again and sprawled out half on the table, not unlike Alfred the Cat did when he wanted attention. 

 

Damian’s eyes flicked up to him. “Yes?”

 

Dick shakes his head. “Nothing.”

 

Damian scowls but went back to his homework.  “I could ask Father about it, next time I see him...if you would like?”

 

Dick shakes his head reflexively. “You don’t have to do that Damian. I know things are...difficult  with your Dad right now.”

 

Damian’s face shuts down. “He’s not my Dad.” He mumbles as he furiously erases a line on his graph.

 

“Is there anyone we could find on our own to look into it?”

 

Damian taps his pencil on the table thoughtfully. “None we could trust.”

 

Dick sighs. “Alright. Never mind then”

 

He stands up and kisses Damian on top of his head as he passes. He’d noticed that Bruce hasn’t visiting in a little while, but he wasn’t going to push it. 

 

If Damian was cutting the Batman out of his life, than Richard Grayson could only applaud his good sense and support him through it. 

 

He goes to the backdrop in his bedroom, turns on his lights, and very impulsively snaps a picture of himself. 

 

He looks at it for a long moment. It doesn’t look real. _He_ doesn’t look real. He looks like really good Halloween make-up. He fights the impulse to throw the phone into the wall as hard as he could.

 

Instead he puts on the clothing he wears at night and wanders out with his hands in the pocket of his hoody. Damian has moved to the couch and is reading a philosophy textbook, with Alfred happily purring on his lap.

 

He ambles over and pulls Damian close hug him against his side. Damian ignores him, which is pretty usual these days. “I’m going to go out for a bit. Check around the neighbourhood. You okay getting yourself to bed?” Dick asks. 

 

Damian nods, not really listening. “That’s fine Richard. Try not to wake Titus up when you come back. I have my chemistry lab tomorrow morning, and if his barking wakes me up I can’t get back to sleep.”

 

“Alright. Silent like a shadow.” Dick promises, drawing a finger across his lips. “Bed by ten, okay?”

 

Damian looks up with a smile. “Bed by ten. Try not to be too late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I write an entire sequel because I wanted to talk about Dick's make-up Instagram? Yes. Do I regret it? No. 
> 
> I hope Jason doesn't come across as too much of a jerk, he really is trying to be helpful. 
> 
> Also, Look! Plot! There's a plot! Sort of at least. Hope you all like the story! Comments are alwys appreciated!!


	3. Step 2: Make Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick finds people he has things in common with. Damian worries about being alone.

Dick trudges through the bad part of town with his head down and his hood up. 

 

He feels guilty. He knows Damian probably thinks he’s off dangling from rooftops, and scoping out the city for any signs that the League of Assassins has discovered their hiding place. 

 

Instead he's going nowhere in particular, just because he can't stand to have nowhere to go and nothing to do. 

 

The bar he winds up in is a dive. The sort of place he’d thought didn’t exist outside of Gotham. But, here it is. Sticky counters, shady characters, the smell of stale beer and all.

 

He orders tequila, the cheapest they have.

 

“Careful there, you’re new. Only masochists order cheap tequila here.” A gruff voice teases from the darkness further down the bar.

 

Dick glances at him. The man’s a bit older. Rough, and a bit scarred up, but not too bad. He’s got a trendy-ish haircut and a smile like a broken blade of a knife.

 

Dick shrugs. “Doesn’t make a difference to me.”

 

The man saunters over and sits down, but leaves one empty seat between them. Dick can tell the stranger’s trying to get a better look under the hood. Dick tilts his head, to let a bit of light land on his chalk white skin. As expected, the stranger’s eyes catch there.   


To Dick’s surprise, he doesn’t move away again. He doesn’t even really stare, he just meets Dick’s gaze with something that looks like understanding. “No, I guess it wouldn’t.”

The man gestures to the bartender. “Put his drink on my tab.” He clinks his glass against the shot of tequila Dick hasn’t touched yet. “The name’s Midnighter, but I go by M. And who might you be?”

 

Dick sighs and pushes the hood off his head. He props his chin on his hand and let’s the too loud sounds of some song with a lot of swearing and fiddles wash over him. He knocks back the shot, and closes his eyes to relish the burn.

 

He smiles crookedly at M after a minute. “I’m Talon. Talon # 37.”

 

That gets him an eyebrow raise, but then M moves to the seat right next to him. “I’ve never heard of a Talon before. S’ hard to think I’d miss 36 guys like you running around.”

 

“My former employers kept a low profile. They keep the help on a very tight leash.”

 

M nods. “I know something about that. I’m guessing you slipped yours?”

 

Dick taps his nose in response, and it makes Midnighter snort.

 

He looks at Talon under his lashes. “Any of the others get out?”

 

Talon looks Midnighter up and down and shrugs. “Not like I did. I’m the one in 37 odds, some got part of the way out though, but they fight for new masters now.”

 

 “And what do you do, Talon? Who do you fight for?”

 

“I don’t fight. I babysit. What about you, mysterious killer in black?”

 

The man purses his lips, but doesn’t object to being called a killer. “I clean up the messes people like your old bosses leave behind.”

 

Talon turns to really give Midnighter a good long look. “Ah. Someone made you too, didn’t they? Which number are you?”

 

Midnight grins. “Million to one.”

 

Talon laughs. “Those are worse odds than mine.”

 

Midnighter shrugs. “I try.”

 

Talon orders another drink, Midnighter’s eyes follow the bartender very closely. “Are you even old enough to drink? You look like a kid.”

 

Talon smiles at him over the rim of his glass. “I’m twenty-six, bad boy.”

 

M laughs. Lough and raspy and like it’s been startled out of him. “No you’re not.”

 

Dick laughs. “Yes, I am, but I was only twenty-one or twenty-two when I was murdered.”

 

M doesn’t laugh at that. His eyes flick over Talon’s ashy skin and yellow eyes. The dark veins that spider their way across his hands and up his neck.

 

“The other thirty-six guys...they like you?”

 

Dick props his chin on his hand, cocks his head and give his most winning smile. “Oh, they aren’t like me. They aren’t even all guys. Equal opportunity enslavement, you know?”

 

Midnighter scowls and taps his fingers on the bar. “I mean, were they all dead kids?”

 

“I know what you meant!” Dick snaps. “Don’t waste your tears on them, they’ve all been dead for decades. And besides, you kill bad people, right? Well, me and mine are as bad as they come.”

 

He spins around on his seat and props his elbows on the bar facing away from the bartender. He glances over his shoulder at Midnighter. “Wanna know how many I killed? How many were clean? And how many were tortured to death?”   


Midnighter looks away. “Do you even know?” he asks softly. “Me? I never keep track.”

 

Talon scowls at him, and throws a few bills down on the bar. “I don’t need this shit-“

 

Midnighter grabs his arm. “C’mon. Don’t be like that. Tell me this isn’t the first time you’ve met someone else like you- someone who gets it, and I’ll let go.”

 

Talon doesn’t say anything. He glances at his phone. It’s after one in the morning. He’ll just wake Damian up if comes home now.

 

Talon meets Midnighter’s eye, and it’s so strange. He tries not to look people directly in the eye, he doesn’t like bringing attention to them, and the way they’re so... _wrong_. But, M doesn’t even keep track of the people he’s killed, so why should Talon care what he thinks.

 

He sighs. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

M smiles and grabs a bottle from behind the bar. He throws some bills on the counter. “Keep the change.” The bartender waves them out. 

 

They wander around the city, just talking, mostly about nothing, and passing the bottle back and forth between them. Turns out they have at least one interest in common outside of murder-for-hire. Surprisingly enough, Midnighter like musicals, but only the modern ones. His favourite is Sweeney Todd, because he’s a god damned cliché.

 

They argue about Sondheim for at least an hour.

 

“You have anybody?” M asks somewhere around 3 in the morning. “Someone who looks out for you? It makes it easier when you do. Trust me.”

 

Talons shrugs and swings his legs between the bars of the railing, leaning back out into the abyss. He smiles. “Tell me about your person.”

 

M huffs and scrubs his hand over his face. “The first one, the one that mattered and made all the others happen- I call him Apollo. He’s...” he shakes his head. “He’s too damn good for me. He’s so good. Better than this crappy world deserves.”

 

Talon smiles to himself and thinks about that little sound Damian makes when he’s pleased but is pretending to be annoyed. “I think that’s just how it goes, when you care someone and they save you. Even if they’re horrible- they’re too good for this crappy world.”

 

Midnighter grins. “Except Apollo really is sunshine and light and everything that is worth a damn in the world.”

 

He rests his hands on top of the railing and sits down next to Dick. He cocks his head at him in slightly tipsy contemplation. “If you’re dead can you even get drunk?”

 

Dick shrugs. “Maybe, if I tried hard enough?”

 

M huffs. “That sucks. Fucking sucks. I don’t know what I would have done if I couldn’t self-medicate.”

 

Dick laughs. “Yoga. I do yoga.”

 

M pulls a face, and Dick has to cover his mouth because that was almost exactly Damian’s reaction.

 

Dick checks his phone. 3:30am, he needs to get home if he wants to have Damian’s morning routine starting on time, and the videos he’s watched have been very clear about how important routine is for a child’s mental and emotional well-being especially if their earlier lives were disrupted or unstable.   


“Somewhere to be?” M asks, leaning too close and smelling of cheap whiskey. 

  
“Yeah. I got to get home to my kid.”

 

M raises an eyebrow but doesn’t saying anything. There’s a beat of silence. “Well, what are you doing hanging around with me for? Get out of here you pretty moron.”

 

Dick's gasp is only half-joking. “You think I’m pretty?”

 

“It’s not a compliment! I prefer my men more ‘ruggedly handsome!”  

 

Dick laughs and flips backwards off the railing, landing light-footed a couple floors down. He waves up at M before dashing off into the dark.

 

 

 

 

 

Dick  has an alarm set for the sunrise everyday, and when it goes off he has to run around closing all the blinds in the penthouse to save his eyes.  Usually he does a quick pass around the apartment, tidying things up as well. Today, he doesn’t because he doesn’t want to wake Damian up by moving around the apartment too much.

 

The boy claims that it doesn’t bother him when Dick wanders around at all hours of the night, but given his history Dick finds that incredibly unlikely, and besides he’d found Damian asleep on the couch last night around 4 am and carried him back to his own bed.  So, he doubts Damian slept much.

 

Instead Dick does his makeup for the day, which he’s usually done the night before, but he’d been out bare-faced for the first time in he didn’t even know how long, so he has to rush to get it on before Damian gets up at 7:30.

 

It worries Dick that he doesn’t know what happened to make Damian stay up so late and look so miserable.

 

He’ll deny it even under torture, because Damian hates to be managed, and he might never forgive Dick if he found out but Dick has been researching parenting stuff. There’s a show with a lot of tips for helping troubled kids, and while Dick would be the first person to admit that Damian is as much looking after him as he is looking after Damian, it doesn’t change the fact that he is the adult in this relationship, by however slim a margin, and at the end of the day and in the eyes of law, Damian is his responsibility.

 

So, they have a routine, and they keep to it as much as they can. It doesn’t matter that Damian didn’t  sleep much last night and will probably be grumpy beyond all reason today, he still has to get up and go to school. He’s on probation for the whole ‘ghostwriting incident’ but got off easy because a) he hadn’t technically been a student, b) he was a minor and a genius and both those bought leniency, but also because c) Bruce Wayne had thrown his weight around a little and let it be known that he would be displeased if Robin Smith was expelled from the University of Wisconsin Madison- which obviously defeated the whole purpose of having chosen to live in Wisconsin in the first place, as far as Dick was concerned, but it wasn’t as though Bruce Wayne actually gave a shit about things like what made Damian feel safe, or respecting boundaries, so Dick supposed it was probably inevitable that he’d get involved.

 

Anyway, Dick makes sure that Damian never misses a class and is always always on time, though again, he tries to make sure that Damian isn’t aware of just how precisely Dick has scheduled their lives.

 

So, at 7:30, Dick stands outside Damian’s room and starts playing Debussy on his phone at increasingly louder volumes until Damian yells that he’s getting ready. Then, Dick goes and starts cooking. He’s gotten much better at it over the last few months, for all that he rarely manages to eat his own food.

 

By the time Damian gets up Dick has his breakfast ready and slides it across the counter for him to catch. Then Dick uses the French press to make one (1) cup of coffee that he’ll let Damian start drinking only once he’s at least half-way through his breakfast.

 

Dick’s been trying to wean the twelve year old off of coffee, but so far he’s been losing that battle, though at least he’s stopped him from constantly knocking back espresso shots.

 

 There was also a green smoothie. Damian glared at it.

 

“I believe I informed you that I would not be drinking those foul concoctions.”

 

Dick leaned on his elbow against the kitchen island. ”Tough. You won’t eat meat. You need protein and nutrients, you won’t learn to cook, and I can’t eat.” He nods at the cup. “This is the best I can do.”

 

This morning all any of this does is earn him a glare. It’s alright, Dick doesn’t expect anything else. Not with Damian so tired, and the videos on youtube have really given Dick a new appreciation for how much worse it could be.

 

They drive to school, park, and walk down to the science building. It makes Dick happy- walking through the milling students with Damian holding his hand and nobody giving either of them a second glance. It’s what he dreamed about when they first left moved here. Being normal, and passing for ordinary.

 

Dick walks Damian to his building and then waves him off to his class. They’ve been working on the separation anxiety thing that they both like to pretend _isn’t_ a problem. Plus, having been expelled Dick isn’t allowed to attend classes even informally so, they’ve had to work on it.

  
  
He doesn’t go far. Stephen, the only friend he managed to make during his nearly a full semester of attending university classes, is waiting for him at a coffee shop just off campus.

 

Stephen obviously knows that there’s something weird about his friend Xander and his littler brother Robin, but he’s mostly let the whole thing go after seeing the older one try to attack Bruce Wayne for making Robin cry. He figures it’s a Gotham thing and has blissfully let the whole mess slide.

 

He smiles at Dick when he sits down at the table with him. He’s got a book out and has already started highlighting, and taking notes. “Saw your latest post. Very cute. Have you been following Korean beauty blogs?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Thought so, you looked very dewy and fresh.”

 

Dick grins and sits down, taking off his backpack. “Thank you, it takes a lot of work to look that natural.”

 

Stephen laughs. “Oh I know.”

 

Dick pauses and fiddles with his pencil, not meeting his friend’s eye. “Hey, Stephen...would you have talked to me that first day, if I didn’t have the makeup on?”

 

Stephen shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. I probably wouldn’t have tried to get past your troll of a little brother, honestly.”

 

Dick winces. “He accused you of trying to sleep with me didn’t he?”

 

Stephen grimaces. “I’m not saying I _wasn’t_ making a pass at you, but getting called out by a ferocious ten year old with a better vocabulary than me was pretty harsh. I still have stress dreams about it sometimes.”

 

Dick stifles a giggle. “Damian has that effect on people. I think the Dean of Admissions had to take stress leave by the time we got the enrolment issue sorted out.”

 

Stephen meets Dick’s gaze completely seriously. “I can believe that. And bless every educator who works with your brother and prevents him from using his powers for evil....speaking of which, you can’t distract me forever:  What are we working on today?”

 

Dick ducks his head in embarrassment and pulls out his remedial coursework. “Reading comprehension.” He mumbles. “I’m too busy concentrating on the individual words to string the meaning together. I’m still only at about seventh-grade level.”

 

Stephen nods and twirls his pen. “Why don’t you get Robin to help you? Kid is a genius.”

 

Dick gasps and snatches his coursework off the table to hide the contents of the book against his chest. “No! He thinks I’m working at a High School level already! I don’t want him to know how far behind I am! It’s embarrassing. He’s a genius and I’m just... _stupid_ , and I don’t want to disappoint him!”

 

Stephen gives him a look. “How old were you when you got taken out of school?”

 

“Eight.”

 

Stephen throws his hands up. “So, you’re doing okay. And forget High School for now.  You just need to scrape up enough reading comprehension to be able to complete your Yoga instructor certification. I don’t imagine it’s a super high level.”

 

Dick gives him a mock glare. “Are you saying Yoga teachers are stupid?”

 

“No.”

 

“Good.”

 

Stephen laughs and they both settle down to do their work. Stephen helps Dick out when he gets stuck on questions, but other than that they work in silence.

 

After a while Dick gets bored and props his chin on his hand. “Hey, Stephen. I’ve been watching this show called Supernanny and I’m really determined to get Damian to socialize with people in his actual age group. In the interest of his emotional development.”

 

Stephen raises his eyebrows but doesn't look up from his laptop. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

 

“Do you think I could somehow trick him into thinking it was his idea?”

 

“No.”

 

“I have an excellent pokerface.”

 

“He conned the university into thinking he was a twenty-two year old mature student for almost a full semester. He only got caught because he couldn’t follow you into exams and still pretend you were the one actually doing the work.”

 

“Eh. Fair point.”

 

Stephen sighs, and taps his pencil on the table. “What if it’s something he wouldn’t be allowed to do at the adult level? Like sports?”

 

“Oh no, Robin is much too competitive and much too stabby for group sports.”

 

“What about if it’s something you want to do? Oh! A mixed ages group!”

 

Dick glares at the vocabulary questions in his work book. “I think it needs to be something he wants to do badly enough that he won’t care other kids are involved.”

 

“Why not just let him hang out with college kids? Eventually he’ll age into the demographic.”

 

“He offends them, and then when they try and correct him he either doubles down and really insults them or starts screaming in Arabic.”

 

Stephen nods and clicks his tongue. “He does talk like the Duke of Edinburgh at his most racist, which is weird considering he’s Arab.”

 

“Technically he identifies as Persian, but...yeah.”

 

“You’ll think of something, Xander. You always do.”

 

Dick groans and stares at his booklet. “Do you think Robin would do my yoga instructor coursework for me if I asked?”

 

“Probably, kid’s got a sort of warped moral centre if you ask me.”

 

“We’re working on it! Supernanny has been very helpful!”

 

 

 

 

 

Damian is barely aware of his morning class. It’s nothing too interesting. Just another biased regurgitation of facts that he already knows. He fiddles on his phone for most of it, scrolling through Richard’s Instagram account. Grayson’s gotten a lot better at doing his make-up.

 

Damian blinks in surprise when a message pops up. His father has texted him, it’s brief and to the point as is case with most their communication.

 

It reads _: “Will be in town next week. Would like to take you to lunch. Please return with your availability. :) "_

 

The emoji is probably Father’s attempt to come across less formal. It almost makes Damian smile, but mostly it makes him feel sick.

  

He’s so tired, and a visit from Father always throws their lives into a tailspin. Grayson is still incredibly wary of the man, and is convinced he’ll snatch Damian away on one of his visits (though Damian knows that for his Father to kidnap him he’s have to actually want Damian to return to Gotham, which he doesn’t seem to).

 

More than that, Damian knows his Father has been up to something in Gotham. He keeps a very close eye on the Gotham gossip blogs and the various supervillain attacks that always seem to be underway in the city. There are rumours that Batman has a new sidekick, though Damian has his doubts about the veracity of such claims.

 

If it is true he supposes that would be what prompted this visit.  The prefuncturory duty of a parent informing him he will have a new brother soon. Damian doesn’t have the patience for such High Society play acting at the moment.  

 

More than that Damian doesn’t think he’ll be able to hide his current state of emotional turmoil from the World’s Greatest Detective, even if he has so far managed to keep Grayson off his trail.

 

He feels worried, and fragile and uncertain of himself in ways he hasn’t in a long time, and not just because his father is apparently thinking of filling the vacancy he’d left in the family.  

 

And he hates himself for having that reaction to something that should be good news.

 

Really he’s just grateful that hadn’t Richard noticed his response to the news that the Talon’s hair is growing and he may in fact be biologically alive and not just magically reanimated. 

 

It’s an illogical, selfish and unreasonable response which Dick does not deserve to have to be subjected to. 

 

Damian is jealous. 

 

It’s not something that makes sense unless you know about the single line drawn on the back of Damian’s closet behind where he hangs his suit and coats where he measured his height not long after he had moved in, inspired by something he’d seen in a children’s movie- the lines measuring a child’s height as they grew. 

 

He’s done it in a fit of optimism in those early days when they’d first moved to Wisconsin and both been so certain that they could live completely ordinary lives. He’d had visions of the years going by in happy mundanity and the lines marching slowly and steadily up the back of that wall. 

 

Except it had been a year and a half, they'd had to accept civilian life might never be easy, and he hadn’t grown at all. Not even a whisker. The boots he’d worn back when he’d been Batman’s sidekick, before Father had died, still fit perfectly. 

 

At first it hadn’t seemed noteworthy at all. He was in the age where children sometimes had a lull in growth spurts before hitting puberty. 

 

But, the longer it went on the more he’d wondered. 

 

His mother obvious had the ability to accelerate the growth of a son. Heretic was only a year or two old but had the body and intellect of an adult. 

 

It was entirely possibly she had designed Damian to be dependant on her by ensuring he would not grow naturally without her intervention. 

 

And, that was the best case scenarion, Damian was aware that there had been other more monstrous failures than Heretic that his mother had created since he had renounced her and she had put a price on his head. 

 

Jason and Tim had tried to keep him off of that case which was why it had been the first one he’d hacked into when he’d lost his tenper at being benched. 

 

It was possible that his mother had made a mistake in making him. He knew enough about phenotypes and gene expression to realize that the fact his green eyes were an incredibly unlikely outcome to have occurred naturally in the offspring of Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Ghul. 

 She had grown him in an artifciail womb and she had tinkered with the formula to ensure the outcome she wanted. 

 

Damian tries to suppress a shudder at the thought of other babies who might have been discarded when she realized they didn’t look enough like the object of her obsessive affection. 

 

Damian had been born and bred a monster. As unnatural and horrific as those other monsters his mother had made. Just, you couldn’t tell. 

 

It was no wonder Father preferred the sons he chose over the ones Talia had made.

 

He sits outside the classroom waiting for Richard to come and collect him. It’s ridiculous. Even ordinary twelve-year olds would be trusted to cross a university campus alone, but Richard is paranoid, and doesn’t like not know where Damian is at any given second, which is pretty rich considering Damian often doesn’t even have a vague notion of where in the city Dick has gone.

 

Dick jogs up in his usual uniform of leggings and oversized hoodie, paired with a full face of flawless make-up. It’s quite the sight.

 

Damian forces himself to smile, and takes his brother’s hand without complaint, despite the fact that if he looked his age it would look very strange for him to be holding hands with an adult in public.

 

It’s the only time he’s glad he hasn’t grown. It’s a comfort to be tethered to someone. Connected to another person in a way that feels safe and healthy.

 

Dick swings their arms back and forth and chatters about what he wants to do with the rest of the day. He wants to make another tutorial for his channel, and he thinks it would be fun if Damian helped.

 

Apparently there was a ‘Boyfriend Does My Makeup’ trend a few months ago and lacking a boyfriend Dick wants to do a “Little Brother Does My Makeup’ video.

 

Damian points out that from what he understands the point of those videos is to laugh at the ineptitude of the guest make-up artist, but Dick argues that it would be a twist for Damian to be more than competent than expected.

 

It’s a pointless conversation because they both know they’d never risk putting Damian in one of those videos online.

 

Dick glances at Damian and squeezes his hand. “If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?”

 

It’s a familiar game, one they don’t play as much anymore. When they’d first moved they’d constantly been making ambitious plans of where they would go and what they would do that they had been to afraid to enact. But, as Dick had liked to say. _“You need to have dreams.”_

 

Damian thinks about it. “Somewhere with trees. Big trees.”

 

Dick hums and skips a bit. “California? To see the redwoods?”

 

Damian shrugs. “Maybe British Columbia. I want to go somewhere really remote.”

 

Dick pauses and Damian turns to look at him. “Something’s the matter. Tell me, and we’ll fix it.”

 

Damian swallows and blinks and stares at his shoes.

 

Damian can’t tell him about this.

 

He knows the Talon, he knows how protective of Damian he was. He’d already put Damian’s needs ahead of his own. 

 

Back when they’d been living in the Batcave and Bruce had come back and Dick had been so terrified of the Batman he’d intended to run away the very night Damian's Father had returned. 

 

Except, Damian had asked begged him not to. And _Dick had_ , without argument or expecting anything in return. Dick had stayed because just because Damian had asked, despite how terrified he'd been. 

 

It had been the first time anyone had ever done that for Damian. Chosen Damian over themselves. Sacrificed something like that, knowing what the consequencs could be and just because Grayson had known Damian would have been emotionally devastated. 

 

Somehow, the minute Damian had realized _that_  it had changed everything. He’d given up on the rest. Neither of his parents had ever done that for him. They had always made their expectations clear, and those xpectations always been just out of Damian’s reach, not completely unreachable but, exhausting to keep hold of. 

 

But Talon hadn’t ever asked him to be anything other than who he was, and that had been enough for him to choose Damian over himself.

 

So,  Damian had chosen the Talon in return. He’d taken Batcow to a sanctuary and he’d denied his father and refused his name. 

 

They’d thought they could move to Wisconsin and become ordinary people. But, they’d been wrong.

 

They’d been high strung and broken and unable to cope with everyday things. 

 

And now, Dick was happy, most of the time, it seemed. He was learning yoga, and he had friends, and was slowly working his way through his work books to get a GED. He might be able to _really_ live soon. Dick Grayson might receive a magic cure to undo what had been done to him. 

 

Damian was still a freak. He was always going to be a freak. They couldn’t fix that without unraveling the whole thing and starting over, like his mother had done. 

 

 

If he told Dick any of this than Dick would say to forget the whole thing. He'd insist there was no need to talk to Bruce or any magicians if the idea of a cure was going to upset Damian so much. 

 

But, that was _wrong._ Dick _deserved to get better_. It didn’t matter how _Damian_ felt. He was making the sacrifice now, because that was what love was. It had been the Talon that taught him that. 

 

Damian imagined the Talon cured and happy, living the life he’d always deserved and never got the chance to have. He couldn’t rob him of that just because Damian felt like he was going to be left behind.

 

He takes a deep breath and looks up at Dick. “Nothing’s the matter, Xander. I just... haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

 

Dick doesn’t look particularly convinced, but he doesn’t look like he’ll push either.

 

“Okay...you don’t have to help me with the video if you don’t want to. I just thought it might be fun. Why don’t we take Titus to the park instead? The pair of you can run around and wear yourself out, plus it gives us the opportunity to scout another area of the city and make sure there are no signs of your Mother around.”

 

Damian nods. “Sure! I’d like that!”

 

The park is wonderful, and the day is cool in the way that Damian loves. It makes his cheeks red, and his ear burn from the cold when they get back inside. 

 

When they get home Dick goes off to film his video and Damian sits on the couch. 

 

He tries to pick Alfred up but the cat hisses and squirms away. The rejection stung, but then Titus lumbers over and rests his big head on Damian’s lap, obviously sensing his master’s distress. 

 

Damian swallows and pets Titus behind the ears. Another ill-made creature who had no idea what hand he was going ot be dealth. Great Danes were often too big for their hearts to support. They tended to die young, stretched by humans beyond the limits of what their physionomy could healthily support. 

  

He curls up on the couch and stares at the wall, imagining Dick, cured and happy and living the life he’d always deserved

 

He peeks under the bind and is pleased to find the sun was setting and Grayson’s eyes would now be safe from too bright light if he opens the blinds. 

 

He pulls the cord and is more surprised than he should have been to find himself confronted with his own reflection in the dark glass. 

 

If Grayson could be fixed, than he would be able ot leave his past completely behind. 

 

But, he wouldn’t. Would he? Not Talon. He wasn’t like Mother or Father. He’d chosen Damian over leaving once before, he’d do it again. Of course he would. Damian just had to believe that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Midnighter quotes Sweeney Todd in his solo series (At last my arm is complete again!) and obviously I ran with that. 
> 
> Also, I am sad that none of Damian's clone brothers managed to survive in canon, so. 
> 
> Anyway, I'll probably be updating this every Thursday for a while, so something to look forward to I guess. Hope you all liked the update, and are looking forward to my continued emotional torture of these sweet boys.


	4. Step 3: Develop Coping Mechanisms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce tries his best. Damian tries not to fall apart. Dick tries to hold it all together.

Despite the incredible amount of effort Bruce puts into nearly all of his interactions with his son, they are almost always a disaster.

 

This lunch, for instance, is already one of the longest hours of his life.

 

Because, as much as Bruce hadn’t liked suddenly becoming responsible for a murderous assassin of a ten-year old it was something he’d been uniquely equipped to handle.

 

The serious, scowling little scholar, who is self-consiously gentle and carefully soft-spoken is more foreign to him than the spitting snarling swearing little monster had been.

 

Bruce is mildly ashamed by that thought. Damian hadn’t been a monster, and if he had it hadn’t been by choice.

 

Damian looks at him expectantly and it takes Bruce a minute to realize that he’d accidentally slipped and conducted the last ten minutes of conversation on auto-pilot without really meaning to.

 

“I’m sorry Damian, what was that?”

 

“My mother, do you have any updates for me on her?”

 

Bruce has never had a person in his life who, knowing he was Batman, hadn’t immediately lost interest in Bruce Wayne. He supposes it’s different for Damian. Masked vigilantes, secret wars and hidden identities are mundane to him and socialites and high tea at chain hotels is the exotic and exciting.

 

Still, it’s...weird talking about Talia al Ghul in the restaurant of Madison Wisconsin’s nicest Hotel. It feels like a disservice to the woman he had once admired so much. He doesn’t have a script to follow, and if Jason has taught Bruce anything it’s that being himself is completely inadequate when he’s playing a parental role.

 

“There’s nothing to tell you really.” Bruce says mildly. Trying to find a voice that feels genuine for this moment and failing. It’s a bit like the one he uses when he runs into Clark reporting at an event and they both know what the other is really hanging around for. Except without that doubled layer of meaning below the words, it just sounds flat. “Once she realized you’re not in Gotham she moved on. Left behind a few dead man-bats and empty lairs. I assume she’s working on a new angle.”

 

“But the price is still on my head?”

 

Bruce swallows. Civilian life apparently hasn’t made Damian any less blunt though it has made him marginally more polite. He hasn’t called anyone an imbecile all afternoon. “Yes.”

 

“So, she hasn’t forgiven me.”

 

There’s a long pause. Bruce doesn’t feel the need to respond to that. The answer is obvious.

 

 “What about the clone?” Damian asks.

 

Bruce looks at Damian blankly. “I didn’t think you knew about that.”  He carefully cuts a piece off his pecan pie. “ As far as I can tell she took him with her. Why do you ask?”

 

Damian shrugs and pokes at his dessert. “No reason. It’s just...in a way he’s my brother, and biologically he’s just as much your son as I am.”

 

Bruce feels his mask drop for a second before he can recover from the shock of that statement. “I wouldn’t say that. And I wouldn’t worry about it, Damian. You’ve made your feelings on...those sorts of activities clear, and I respect that. Tim, Jason and I will handle it.”

 

“If you say so, Father.”

 

Bruce shrugs and pops a bite of pie into his mouth with an small absent-minded smile. He imagines how much the act would have infuriated Talia, and how she wouldn’t have been able to hide it. Damian doesn’t appear to have either of those problems.

 

“Your mother can be un predictable.” Bruce says. “You are still in very real danger. She has been quite...relentless ever since you rejected her. Her attacks on me have only escalated.”

 

Damian nods. “We knew there would be consequences when she returned for me and I refused to go. People so often fall into disputes about how their children should be raised.”

 

If it were Tim or Jason or even Duke, there would be a snide tilt to that phrase at the very least, one that Bruce would deserve, but Damian has always been generally respectful to him, even when he was calling everyone else in earshot the sorts of horrible names that would peel paint.  With Bruce it was always _‘Yes, Father’_ ‘ _No, Father_ ’ peppered in between desperate attempts at pleasing Bruce.

 

Bruce has never had a child he hasn’t had to earn. Jason, Duke and even Tim, despite his hero worship, had all made him work hard to earn their trust and respect. Not that he had the latter anymore, when it came to Jason, and not that he had the former, yet, when it came to Duke.

 

It had been the work of months, carefully doling out tasks, finding the right ones for the boy and watching to make sure there had been no miscalculation- that it was the perfect one to prove to them that they were strong and capable and smart enough to feel safe wherever they went.

 

Not that Bruce has any illusions about being a natural parent but he likes to think that his boys don’t need conventional parenting. They need or needed someone who would let them jump from rooftop to rooftop and help them solve crimes.

 

The mundanity of custody disputes, _‘how was your day at school’_ and the expected unconditional love owed to a heretofore unknown biological child has never factored in to any of that.

 

Bruce Wayne has never been any good at ordinary. Everyone agrees on that.

 

But, Damian meets him whenever he texts, and always looks a mix of hopeful, disappointed and determined.

 

And the Talon, who sits across the room half hidden behind an ailing rubber-plant wearing a different and more outlandishly made-up face each time, always looks at him with a venomous sort of protectiveness. Bruce imagines it’s the sort of face Batman makes when a dangerous rogue gets to close to one of his kids.

 

It takes him a minute to realize that when he pictures ‘his kids’ Damian isn’t there and the realization makes him sick to his stomach. There has to be a way he can do this. Be a Father without relying on Batman and vigilante-ism to be the glue that holds the people he loves together.

 

But, he is who he is, and who he is cannot be separated from the night, and vengeance and wearing a Batsuit in a desperate bid to try and enforce some version of justice. Things Damian has made it clear he wants no part of.

 

So he just continues the conversation he’s been having this whole time without really paying attention to it, but cataloguing every fact for future perusal.

 

Damian’s classes, Damian’s school, training his dog. The ordinary every day life that has always filled Bruce with a mix of boredom and contempt.

 

“Ah hem.” Damian is looking at with a familiar expression. Annoyance, mixed with confusion. He can’t understand what he’s doing wrong.

 

 _Nothing_ Bruce wants to say _It’s not your fault, I don’t know how to act, or what to say. I was ruined for normal life a long long time ago._  He doesn’t say anything. He’s actually impressed that Damian is so able to pick out the moments when Bruce stops listening to his voice and let’s himself think of something else even as his mouth makes the right sounds in response to what has been said.

 

Damian looks down and very deliberately and precisely folds his napkin in half scoring the crease with his thumbnail. “Perhaps...perhaps it would be better if we called it a day. I’m obviously boring you.”

 

Bruce looks at him, feeling desperate and wrong and ashamed.”If that’s what you want Damian, I won’t stop you.”

 

Damian’s face falls the second Bruce agrees to end lunch early, and his heart sinks down to his toes. _Got it wrong again._

If he were Clark this wouldn’t be an issue. Clark has a biological child who adores him, and who is ordinary by intention. Clark would put the words in the right order, find the sounds to say _it’s not you it’s this act we put on_ , because he knows there’s more to Damian than this keen young man making polite conversation about dogs, poetry and the grading rubric of universities.

 

But the gap feels too wide to reach across, and it’s easier to just pretend Bruce can’t even see it.

 

Bruce smiles the empty-headed smile he uses when he wants to leave a party. “You could never bore me, Damian.”

 

His son just snorts and looks over his shoulder to meet the eye of the young man failing to behind a rubber plant. The twelve-year stands and leaves without another word, the path of the assassin Damian prefers to Bruce  intersects with Damian by the door, and he sends Bruce one venomous glance before ushering the boy out with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

 

Bruce stares at the table and eats his pie with small perfectly polite bites. Something else he does without noticing or thinking about it. He jerks up in surprise when Jason drops down across from him.

 

“Did you tell him?” his eldest asks, pulling Damian’s largely uneaten dessert to him and digging in completely shamelessly.

 

Bruce doesn’t say anything.

 

 Jason pulls a face. “C’mon? Really?!”

 

Bruce shrugs.

 

 “You know that means I have to do it right? Unless you want the guard dog to throw a tantrum and Damian to never speak to you again.”

 

Bruce takes another perfect bite of cake. “I’ll tell him next time.”

 

 

 

 

 

Damian is standing by the door waiting for Dick to get the car keys back from the valet, and hoping he won’t somehow get lost or get distracted talking with the valet attendant, when someone makes a small noise to draw his attention and he turns to find himself face to face with his second oldest adopted brother.

 

Tim is sitting elegantly poised on one of lobby chairs and is reading a newspaper. He flicks the corner down and smiles at Damian before neatly folding it back up in a precise practiced motion and dropping it on the table next to him.

 

 “Why are you here?” Damian asks sharply. “ I saw Jason lurking around the dining room, surely Father didn’t consider this so much of a trial he needed both of your support?” He tries, but he can’t keep the pleading note out of his voice when he asks.

 

Tim raises one eyebrow. “Business trip. One of your professors in the engineering department is very brilliant and WE is trying to lure him away from academia. I flew out to meet with him as part of the soft sell. Bruce tagged along for the chance to see you.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“I’m guessing the visit didn’t go well?” Tim asks, flicking a hand at the empty chair next to him in a silent invitation.

  
Damian shrugs and sits down. “It went as well as could be expected.”  
  
“Ah.” Tim replies sarcastically. “As good as that?”

 

Damian suppresses a smile. As much as he resents Tim for being found a worthy heir to not just Batman but Ra’s Al Ghul, he has come to see the appeal in his dry calculating older brother.

 

Tim eyes him for a moment before clicking his tongue and looking away. “He is trying, you know.” He finally informs Damian matter of factly. “You think he agonizes over text messages to the rest of us? Or uses emojis? He believes you’ve set certain parameters for your interactions and relationship. He’s trying to comply with them.”

 

Damian struggles to keep his lower lip from quivering and shrugs.

 

“Robin!” The call comes from across the lobby and they both turn to see Dick waving from the door, the car idling behind him.

 

Damian stands.

 

Tim gives a little wave and smiles. “ By the way: Robin Smith? I never ask about that.. creative choice.”

 

Damian shrugs. “Robin is Dick’s nickname for me.”

 

Tim hums. “I’m surprised you allow it considering his proof of bad taste with his own nickname.”

 

Damian sneers. “Well, I understand the concept of friendship that isn’t mandated by your legal guardian might be confusing to you.”

 

Tim rolls his eyes. “ Don’t snap at me Damian. I was just joking. I actually think it’s very sweet. You know where it comes from right? That was what his mother’s name for him, before she died and the Court got him.”

 

Damian feels like he’s up to his neck in ice water. He hadn’t known that he’d been running around with the name of who Dick might have been. The moniker of a child who was tortured hanging around his neck like an albatross.

 

‘How could you possibly know that?” He asks numbly.

 

Tim frowns at him, noticing the change in demeanour but not understanding it. “I’m the world’s greatest detective, Damian. I have my ways.”

 

Damian stares at him. “I thought that was Father.”

 

Tim chuckles and winks. “I just let him think that.”

 

“ROBIN!” Dick calls again, waving even more vigorously as though Damian had somehow missed him standing there with his over sized hat and pea-green trench coat.

 

Tim raises his eyebrows. “You better go, kid. He might shout so loud the League finds you in a couple minutes.”

 

Damian glares. “You’re just jealous, Drake.”

 

“Oh, yes, this life of glamour...who wouldn’t be?”

 

Damian swallows and heads for the door.

 

 

Damian doesn’t say anything to Richard when they get back to the apartment. He knows the assassin wants to console him, wants to know the details, wants to know what made today different, but Damian...doesn’t have the words, and he doesn’t want to make a fuss when whatever pain is caused by parental indifference must be inconsequential in the face of parental death.

 

As for the other thing...what Tim had told him so casually. He doesn’t understand himself what it might mean or how he might feel about it. It would be categorically impossible to find the words to explain it to someone else.

 

He pulls the magazine out from where he’d hidden it in his desk and smoothes out a spread near the back, staring at the picture. _“Bruce Wayne takes in third foster child”_ the headline of a short human interest story declares. Bruce is smiling in the picture. A real smile, that Damian doesn’t think he’s ever once had directed at him. He crumples the magazine, and then sighs, smoothes it out again, and tucks it back in between his old sketchbooks.

 

He’d thought that Father had arranged the entire rendez-vous with the intention of sharing his news about this young man- Duke Thomas, whoever he was, no doubt someone Father had met through his work as Batman, but he’d just looked through Damian all lunch making empty conversation where he said nothing and extracted as much information about Damian’s life as he could within the conventions of polite conversation in polite Western society.

 

Damian’s eyes feel hot and he is humiliated more than anything else. Experience has taught him time and time again that blood means nothing to the Batman. His is a meritocracy and Damian never had a chance of doing anything but falling short. That was why he’d chosen not to compete in that arena anymore. He’d hoped that might earn him some sort of respect, or affection from his father. Or at least differentiate him from the other boys who legally could be called his Father’s sons.

 

Instead, he’d made himself even more unremarkable, treated as nothing more than everyone else in the entire world. Someone worth protecting, someone who deserves care, consideration, politeness, and dismissal.

 

Damian sits on his bed and is trying to decide between furiously playing some Beethoven on his piano with extra emphasis on the pounding bass chords  or curling up into a ball on his bed and silently sobbing until Richard called him for dinner.

 

Instead he hears a familiar song playing in the living room and sits up with a frown.

 

He wanders out to find, as expected, Richard prancing around the living room in imitation of the boys dancing around on screen.

 

_I’d do anything, for you dear anything for yooouuu_

Richard’s latest delight, an obsession with mid-century musical films that, as far as Damian can tell, are all unbearable long and in which almost nothing ever happens has been a source of friction within the house hold.

 

The dancing is new though. 

 

Damian has to admit that Richard’s doing a pretty accurate job mimicking the movements of the boys on screen who are somehow miming a horse drawn buggy. Though the effect with only one dancer is quite ridiculous.

 

_“I’d do anything for you, dear, anything, for you mean everything to meee...”_

A boy in a top hat dances with a woman in a red dress, and Richard copies the steps perfectly  without looking at the screen, he catches Damian’s eye, grins and starts dancing towards him with mischievous intent.

 

Damian tries not to smile and steps back, but Richard just prances around him in the same stupid dance and singing both parts of the duet.

_“Would you climb a hill? Anything, Wear a daffodil? Anything. Leave me all your will? Anything. Even fight my Bill? What fisticuffs!?”_

The song changes with the woman singing the part the boys had been taking, and singing a duet with a different boy with a sweet high voice.  Richard suddenly breaks out of his dance and picks Damian up, swinging him around and singing along in a loud off-tune voice.

 

 _“I’d go anywhere for your smile. Anywhere, for your smile everywhere I’d see.”_ He warbles dramatically, one hand out stretched as he spins Damian out from him.

 

Damian huffs. “T-t.” And shoves the former Talon hard enough to knock him back onto the couch. “Exposure to American culture has not improved you, Dick.”

 

Dick props himself up on his elbow and smiles a big fake smile. “Says you, I’ll have you know many people find me charming.”

 

Damian crosses his arms and scowls.

 

The boys on the television have broken into another dance, the first one so far that actually looks like a real dance and not just a bunch of kids messing around. Richard hops up off the couch and follows along tapping his feet and standing straight and then whirling around wildly like the girls do as they kick their heels out. He picks Damian up off the couch and waltzes around the room with him energetically.

 

Damian does not participate but he doesn’t resist either.

 

A ragged man bursts in at the end of the song on the television dancing in with funny hops and flailing elbows, a pink umbrella and a feather in his hair. Damian would like to flinch at it, but doesn’t let his expression change. He knows the man is harmless in this story, but something about it.... The happy make-believe of the children and the women playing along to a game of words they don’t really mean, and then  the man starts singing and the words of the song come out twisted and mean.

 

_Would you rob a shop? Anything! Would you risk the drop? Anything! Though your eyes go pop!? Anything..._

 

Richard must notice whatever micro-expression Damian couldn’t control because he pauses the video, gets a sly look and fiddles on his phone cuing up a new video.

 

“Maybe this will be more to your taste.”

 

Damian reads the titile of the video. “Ghenghis Khan?”

 

Dick grins. “That’s what your mom wanted you to be right? A Ghenghis Khan for the new age?”

 

Damian rolls his eyes. “She wanted me to be a new Alexander, Richard.”

 

Dick wrinkles his nose. “Why? Ghenghis Khan conquered more land and his empire didn’t collapse at his death.”

 

Damian shrugs. That’s true and Dick’s right, it doesn’t make sense that Mother would want him to be Alexander when there were other more competent conquerors in the history books. But, Damian no longer expects logic to apply to the Al Ghuls.  

 

Pop-vocalisation starts up, and the video opens to the scene of a villain who is clearly just different enough from Lex Luthor to avoid a libel suite grand-standing over a man in a suit strapped beneath a laser. It’s familiar enough to feel almost comfortable.

 

 The chorus starts and Richard leaps up to dance along with the grand-standing villain. It’s a simpler performance than the last dance. Just one dancer doing something modern but pretty good. Richard flops back down next to him when the chorus ends for another instrumental break.

 

On screen a bell rings and the ersatz-Luthor returns to a mid-century modern house, a lovely wife and two children but seems unhappy and detached.

 

Damian frowns at Richard, who raises a finger and smiles. “Wait for it....”

 

The villain returns to work and releases the hero. The chorus starts again. The hero agonizes and then he comes back. The villain smiles and they dance together.

 

Damian laughs, as the dancers perform a duet.  Richard grins and pauses holding out his arms. “Come dance with me Dami! Wanna be the hero or the villain?!”

 

Damian lets himself be pulled up and does his best to copy whatever Richards doing. He’s a bit behind the beat, but the moves are relatively simple and it feels fun. Twirling and spinning. His favourite bit is when they hop, shimmy, and look at each other in time to the beat.

 

 It’s stupid and ridiculous and so beneath the dignity of an Al ghul that grandfather would never even forbid it because never even in his darkest nightmare would it occur to him that Damian would be tempted to make an ass of himself dancing along to mediocre western-pop music.

 

Damian is so busy laughing he can’t quite catch his breath.

 

The video ends with the villain and hero sharing a meal, raising a family and happily sitting next to each other in bed reading books. A happy ending that makes Damian grin.

 

He hops onto the couch and watches Richard as he tap dances his way to the kitchen. “Do you think that was what my parents were like? And Mother thought they’d settle down and raise a family?”

 

Richard shrugs, without pausing in his silent tap dancing. “I don’t know. I never met her. I can’t imagine your Father dancing though.”

 

Damian snickers imagining his heavy muscle bound Father leaping with pointed toes or twirling around with a partner.

 

Alfred wanders over and sits down next to Damian.

 

Richard comes back and shoves a bowl of salad into Damian’s hands. “I know you barely ate anything at lunch.”

 

Damian picks at it. “Would Father do anything for me do you think?”

 

Dick hums, twirling on his toe with one leg out pretending to do ballet. “He let you go didn’t you?”

 

“T-t. I didn’t leave him much choice in that.”

 

Dick chuckles grimly and lowers his leg. “ He could have sent Jason to drag you back to Gotham by your hair, and then broken your ankles to make sure you wouldn’t run away again.” He says matter-of-factly as he smiles absent-mindedly to himself

 

 He strikes another pose. One Damian recognizes: ballet first position. “Once he had you back, if he wanted to teach you a real lesson, he might have hamstrung you and left you alone to crawl back to your cell the next time you went as far as the gate house without permission.” 

 

Dick notices suddenly that Damian sitting frozen in horror with his fork halfway to his mouth. He looks embarrassed for a second and then looks away and won’t look at Damian.

 

He bites his lip and Damian doesn’t say anything. “J-just as a...as a r-random worst case scenario. I didn’t mean anything by it, your father would never...” He trails off and shifts to fourth position.

 

Damian blinks, eyes burning and takes another bite. He chomps furiously for a minute, before he shrugs. “You’re right. It could be much worse than awkward lunches every few weeks.”

 

Dick steps forward. “Damian-“

 

“It’s fine, Richard. Don’t concern yourself about me. I’ll wash my own dishes.”

 

Dick looks torn but finally nods, and drifts out of the room. “Just shout, if you need me.” He murmurs before closing the door to his bedroom.

 

 

 

 

Dick sighs and tilts his head to get a better look at his make-up. He feels embarrassed about the way he’d let his mouth run earlier. He hadn’t meant to shock Damian.

 

It’s easy to forget sometimes, that despite their shared experiences, and the harshness of the League’s training regime, Damian had been valued in a way that Dick had not. Damian had been pushed because he was the heir and he had to be worthy. Dick had been the newest model in a long line of deadly toys the Court had the bad habit of breaking.

 

Dick doesn’t bite his lip, because it will ruin his lipstick, but he tugs at his hair a bit. The jolt refocuses him, not really painful but...something else.  

 

He checks the mirror again. The make-up is flawless. He likes to look that way when he feels unsettled or out of control. Fake it till you make it, or whatever the expression is. He smiles, the one he copied off of Gene Kelly. It’s not quite perfect yet but it’s close.

 

He spritzes on the setting spray, sets up his lights and takes a picture. Posts it and then turns off the notifications. He’s been getting more and more followers lately, and he’s still not sure how he feels about it. He feels the expression on his face slip into something worried, and he consciously schools it back into something neutral.

 

He peeks out into the living room where Damian is curled up asleep on the couch wearing noise-canceling headphones, his hand clutching the ipod he insists on using even though the phone Bruce bought him is more than capable of doing the job and it’s just one more thing to keep track of.

 

Damian says he doesn’t want to have to throw it away when they move. It doesn’t have wifi or gps like the phone does.

 

Paranoia and Pesimism.  The bread and butter of an ex-assassin.

 

The same things that keep him sleeping on the couch instead of in his room, especially when it’s been a bad day. Dick leans down and scoops him up. Damian clings, half-asleep as Dick takes his headphones off, just catching a snippet of a phrase spokenin a strong smooth voice.

“Mmpf” Damian mutters, holding on tighter.

 

“C’mon Robin.” Dick whispers, carrying the preteen to his bedroom.. “We talked about this. You got to sleep in your room.”  Dick’s mostly managed to get Damian on a more normal sleep schedule, he no longer stays up most of the night, but he still is only sleeping 5 or 6 hours, which according the websites Dick has been reading, is not nearly enough for a child his age.

 

He puts Damian gently down onto his bed. Damian scrubs at his eyes, not fully awake. “T-t. Like you?”

 

“You know I don’t sleep, Dami.”

 

Alfred the cat hops onto the bed and daintily bounds over to curl up in his favourite spot just under Damian’s chin. He gives Dick a somewhat disdainful look.

 

Damian curls up around his pillow.  “Y-shld.” He mutters.

 

Dick smiles and stands up, walking silently over to take a peek at Damian’s sketchbook which is open on his desk. More screaming skulls and distorted bodies. Maybe he’s been having nightmares? That might explain why he doesn’t want to sleep in here anymore. Dick notices a magazine tucked under the book and frowns.

 

Damian hates these. Dick buys them to practice reading on, and to get ideas for his makeup, but Damian always makes fun of him for it.

 

He flips through the pages and stops on one near the back that’s wrinkled. There’s a small article, not even a paragraph with the title “ _Bruce Wayne takes in third foster child_ ” and a picture of Bruce with a black teenager.

 

Dick frowns and looks at where Damain has gone back to sleep. He takes a deep breath and puts the magazine back down.  That explained more than it didn’t. After a moment’s thought he tries to place it back where he found it.

 

“Titus!” he whispers, pointing at the dog, as he grabs his hoody off it’s hook by the door. “You’re in charge! Look after Damian while I’m gone!”

 

There’s an answering click-clicking of the great dane’s nails on the floor and Dick steps out, locking the door behind him.

 

 

 

 

 

Jason sees the Talon doing what looks like a tightrope routine on the railing of a bridge. Moron is lucky no one out here in the boonies has called the cops on him thinking he’s a suicide risk.

 

Jason prepares to step dramatically out of the shadow in true Gotham fashion when the annoying little jitterbug leaps four feet vertically in the air, does a backwards somersault and lands squarely on Jason’s shoulder’s with a knife in each hand and both pointed at his throat.

 

“JESUS CHRIST! You have got to stop DOING THAT!” he shrieks. Manfully.

 

The bird just giggles. “You have got to learn to walk a bit more quietly if you’re going to keep trying to sneak up on me.”

 

Jason grabs him and throws him off but the infuriating loser just handsprings onto his feet and stands there grinning at him from a few feet away.

 

Jason makes a face at him, though it’s less satisfying with the helmet one. Still, kind of satisfying though.

 

Dick smiles at him. Jason’s not sure who taught this punk to smile unnervingly when he doesn’t want to give anything away but Jason is going to find that person someday and punch them in their face.

 

“Ricky G, Long time no see.”

 

“Not long enough.” The Talon murmurs, though he doesn’t look like much of one these days. Schlepping around in leggings and an oversized hoody, with all that make-up to hide how dead he is, he looks like some asshole on Instagram more than anything else. Which makes sense since he is one. “You and your kind can’t keep coming here in costume! They may not have been able to find us, but you’re stupid if you think you’re not being watched very closely.”

 

Jason ignores that. Dick’s right, and it’s not fair of Bruce to keep doing this, but he’s never been a hands-off parent. “B just worries about Damian, he wanted to check in on you guys, see how things are. How’s the kid doing? School alright?”

 

Dick shrugs. “He’s doing okay. Still on probation after the whole...academic fraud thing. He’s not allowed to be group leader in any of his lab classes, and he did file a complaint about that saying it was discrimination based on age, but the administration just said” the talon’s voice shifts to a mocking falsetto. “ _You’re here as a courtesy and a privilege, Robin_ ’ which you know, went down real well.” ‘

 

Jason grimaces. University of Wisconsin is more lucky than they knew that that incident ended without bloodshed. “Yeah, that sounds like Damian....Look, I wanted to give you a heads up about-“

 

“The Bat’s latest little soldier. I know.”

 

Jason blinks. It’s not exactly a secret but it’s not like it’s big news anywhere but Gotham and even there it’s only a footnote in the society pages.

“oh...uhhh...”

 

“Damian orders a Gotham magazine in order to keep up with events there. He saw an article about him- Duke Thomas.” Dick shakes his head. “The nerve of that man...it makes me sick.”

 

Jason scowls and puts his hands on his hips. “Don’t pull that with me! You’ve been in the world long enough that you should know better by now! Batman is a hero! He’s a founder of the Justice League! He saves the-“

 

“I know who he is! I went to him to destroy the Owls didn’t I? It doesn’t wash out the rest! And I’ve looked into it- The rest of the Justice League fights no wars with children!”

 

Jason twirls one of his guns on his index finger. “Arrow does.”

“Arrow is just copying Batman, only he’s not as good at it.”

 

“Whoa. Harsh. So...how did Damian take it?”

 

Dick shrugs. “I don’t know. He hasn’t said anything. I only found the magazine by accident.”

 

Jason pauses. “That’s not normal though, right? You guys know all the gory details about each other, and I do mean that literally.”

 

The glare Dick shoots his way is positively scathing. It makes Jason grin behind his helmet. Score one for the alive-again avenger, against the undead killjoy.

 

“He’s twelve, and I’m twenty-six! Why on earth would you think he’d tell me everything?!”

 

“I dunno. Isn’t that how your whole thing works? Aren’t you, like, each other’s therapy dogs.”

 

“You really think he wants to cry about how his millionaire father is replacing him, when my impoverished parents were brutally murdered? You really think he wants to go there?”

 

Jason sighs. “I...suppose...he probably wouldn’t.” 

 

Dick throws a rock at him and it pings off his helmet. “Take that stupid thing off.”  He turns around and sits down on the railing, his legs swinging out over the water.

 

Jason relents and stashes the helmet in his duffle bag full of guns.

 

“It’s not what you think, Ricky. Duke’s hoping his parents are still alive, but he needs help if he’s ever going to find them. He’s not putting him on the streets. He’s being careful.”

 

More venomous glaring. Talon really has been spending too much time with Damian. “T-t.”  Make that _way_ too much time with Damian.

 

“You have been spending way too much time with Damian.” Jason informs him seriously.

 

“Someone has to.”

 

“I dunno, he always seemed so self-sufficient.” And murderous, but Jason has enough tact not to say that to someone who has both murdered and been murdered. Just seems like he’d be pushing his luck too much there.

 

“He’s a _child_ , and incredibly gifted child, but a child. Why am I the only person who seems to understand that?”

 

“Well, Ricky...”Jason sits down, groaning a little and leans against the railing. “...you have a pretty unique outlook on the whole thing.”

 

Dick glances down at Jason from where he’s perched on the railing. “I don’t blame you. For the Bat. I know...I know he was the best choice you had.”

 

Jason shrugs. “Eh. What can you do? Believe it or not Ricky, your good opinion doesn’t exactly keep me up nights.”

 

Dick smiles, not the grins or eerie fixed expressions he uses when he’s annoyed, but something softer that plays at the edges of his mouth and softens his whole face.

“That’s what I like about you, Jason. You’re honest. It’s rarer than you might think.”

 

“That’s me, Mister Virtuous.”

 

There’s another long pause.

 

“Speaking of...the big man, ya got to stop it with the social media accounts. It’s making people very nervous.”

 

“Why? It’s just me. Damian’s not in danger.”

 

“You’re rarely less than 10 feet away from Damian at any given moment. He’s endangered by what you’re doing.”

 

“Fine. I’ll stop updating the Youtube channel, but I’m keeping Instagram.”

 

“Please, I have a soul, I wouldn’t ask you to give up Instagram. I’m not a monster.”

 

The Talon chuckles, and it fits with this too handsome young man in ugly athleisure wear much better than it would ever fit an assassin.

 

“Can I ask you something? Something personal?”  Dick asks.

 

“Eh...why not? Shoot.”

 

“Would you kiss me? Or...something who looked the way I do?”

 

Jason rolls his eyes. “Kim K. Doesn’t really do it for me, so no.”

 

“That’s not what I meant. I meant...without the makeup.” 

 

Jason feels his heart ache a little for the guy. He’s always liked the Talon even if he is a shit-head, or maybe because of it. Life screwed him, worse than it screwed Jason even because Jason died young but he got to come back. All the way. Dick, he’s stuck. He’s dead and he looks it.

 

And he’s out here in Wisconsin with only the demon-brat for company, because he wants nothing to do with superheroes or anyone who has anything to do with them. No shit he’d be lonely.

 

Jason swallows and licks his lips as he feels his face go red. “Well, strictly speaking, I don’t kiss anyone.”

 

Talon cocks his head at him like he a bird. “Really? You haven’t been kissed at all?”

 

“I’ve been kissed...twice. It’s just, I was never the person who made the move? The ladies...they took charge.”

 

Talon raises an eyebrow. “Did you enjoy that?”

 

Jason thinks about it. He’s ashamed of sleeping with Talia now. It had been petty, and stupid and more than a little sick on both their parts. “Mostly.”

 

Talon hums. “Mostly seems good enough.” He looks at Jason and smiles. Not like before. Not like Jason has ever really seen. It’s bright and happy and covered in makeup like he is conjuring the boy he would have been so strongly it makes Jason’s chest ache. “Thank you for telling me the truth Jason Todd.  I bet you’re the only honest man in Gotham.”

 

Jason rolls his eyes as Talon stands up in a fluid motion.

 

“Tell your master if he wants to “check up on us” the assassin used air-quotes and Jason had to turn away to hide his grin. It was just too surreal. “He can hack into the University security system and leave us alone.”

 

Jason gives a mock salute. “I’ll pass the message along.”

 

Dick smiles again. Bright and buoyant, and bouncing on his toes. “Good. Hey! I learned something new this week want to see?”

 

Jason gives up on hiding his smile. “Sure.”

 

Dick waggles his eyebrows and moonwalks away.

 

Jason can’t help it- he throws his head back and laughs.

 

 

 

 

When Dick gets home the light is on under Damian’s door, and Titus is no longer sitting guard in the living room. Dick sighs and knocks gently before slowly opening the door, ready to duck if Damian throws a knife.

 

Damian is sitting on the bed furiously scribbling in a sketchbook balanced on his knees. Titus is whining on the floor next to him.

 

Dick crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. “You need to sleep, Damian.”

 

“Can’t” he says without looking up.

  
  
Dick stares at him. “How long have you been up?”

 

Damian glances at the clock. “Less than an hour.”

 

“Damian, please try and go back to sleep. I know today was...difficult but-“

 

“You don’t know anything, Richard!”

 

“Damian, I-“

 

“NO!” Damian shouts slamming his sketchbook down onto his own legs hard enough to make Dick wince. “SHUT UP!”

 

“Damian, please just tell me what’s the matter and we can fix it-“

 

Damian glares at Dick. “Stop it!”

 

“Stop what?”

 

“You’re stupid act, this routine of fussing mother head. It’s pathetic and frankly embarrassing to witness. You don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

 

The Talon if anything somehow manages to get paler. “Robin, hey, it’s not an act you know I care about-“ he says reaching out.

 

“No!” Damian shouts swatting the hand away, and shoving Dick in the stomach hard enough that he stumbles back. “You don’t care about me! Everybody knows you just look after me because you think somehow it will fix what happened to you!  That if you help me somehow you’ll be able to help the you that was young and alone and got tortured to death. But, I don’t need your help. I’ve never needed your help. _I_ rescued _you_. I rescued you because I felt sorry for you. Because you were some...pathetic dead thing in a cave. Something that was barely even human. I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. Get away from me.”

 

Dick’s hand drops and his face is like stone for a moment and then, horrifically, he smiles. “Alright, Robin.” He says softly. “If that’s how you really feel.” His hand drops back to his side, and he steps away. He ducks his head and looks at his feet. “If that’s how you really feel.” He repeats in a very small voice.

 

Damain lifts his chin and glares and pretends his eyes aren’t burning. “It is.”

 

Dick nods. He looks sad. “Ok, Damian. Whatever you want. I won’t...I won’t bother you again. I promise.” He draws a cross over his heart.

 

Damian crosses his arms and looks away. Dick gently closes the door behind him.

 

 

Later that night Dick peaks Damian’s room to check on him. All the lights are still on and, he is curled up wearing his big noise-cancelling headphones. From a distance Dick can’t tell whether or not he’s fallen asleep listening to his current book on tape, but decides that given the headphones it probably doesn’t matter.

 

He closes and pads back to his own bedroom without making any noise at all.

 

He hits the button on the communicator and waits.

 

“Asset 37” a gruff voice on the other end grunts. “What can I do for you, Talon?”

 

Dick swallows. “I need your help, M.”

 

“Aw, well, I should have guessed you didn’t call me up just to chat. What’s the problem?”

 

“Do you know any...magic specialists...?”

 

“Sure, what kind of specialty we talkin’ ‘bout here?”

 

“...Necromancy...I guess, or healing? maybe?”  


“...pretty different things, bud.”

 

Dick sighs and leans his head against his bedroom wall. “I know. But, it appears there’s some magic on me, and I need to learn a bit more about it.”

 

There’s a sound on the other end as Midnighter thinks.  “You’re trying to undo what was done to you, as much as you can.” He guesses.

 

Dick doesn’t say anything. There’s a grunt on the other line like M’s been punched.

 

“This  a bad time?”

 

“No. I can fight and talk at the same time. Easey Peasey Lemon squeezy. These low-rent goons can’t even make me break a sweat-“

 

_“M-“_

 

“I hear you, and I’ll ask around about your situation.” M snaps sounding annoyed. “ I have a friend who magicked me to hell and back, so I’ll check with him first, but a little free advice? You can’t unring a bell, and undoing things like us? It’s not easy or pretty or usually possible, not without paying a pretty heavy price. No one I’ve known has ever managed to go back once they got dragged out of humanity.”

 

“I’m not you, M.”

 

“I know. I get that you have to try, but- I’m just sayin’: Don’t get your hopes up.”

 

“I know.”

 

“...how’s the kid?”

 

Dick covers his face with his hands. “Shitty.”

 

“Oh. Sucks. ‘m guessing that has something to do with this little phonecall?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear and you’ve probably already thought of it, but- you undo what they did to you and suddenly the kid doesn’t have an unkillable protector anymore, just your average sadsack meatbag human.”

 

“Fuck you, M.”

 

“Sorry. I know you know.”

 

“We need a win, M. His psycho bio-dad rolled in a new model to replace him with and he- I” Dick gasps, and chokes and tries not to cry. “I’m not doing too well, right now.”

 

“He’s training another kid to be a weapon?”

  
  
“A soldier, but close enough.”

 

“Fuck that guy.”

 

“Yeah. I know.”

 

“...well, I’ll look into it. I’ve got your number. I’ll text you if I find anything.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Well, I’ve done a lot more for a lot shittier people.”

 

“I know. Still.”

 

“Yeah. Look after the kid, okay? And don’t knock what you are. It’s not so bad being the meanest toughest shit-kicker around. Trust me on this.”

 

“Shut up with your sanctimonious advise, M. You get Apollo back yet?” 

 

“..Yeah.”

 

“Good to know you’re no longer torturing both him and yourself , you self-loathing fuck.”

 

“Harsh, T. Harsh, and here i thought we were friends.”

 

“Go to Hell M.”

 

“Been there, done that, fought the devil and won.”

 

“Stop bragging. Asshole.”  Dick disconnects, and stares at the wall, blinking furiously until his eyes stop burning. He likes M, but the black clad piece of bad news wrapped in leather could really get on his nerves.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really wasn't sure whether or not I should split this is two. It's kind of all over the place. And also, very long. 
> 
> I was really struggling with it and then I realized it just needed more Tim, and M. So then it got longer. 
> 
> The music Dick is dancing to is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ey0D53Dxl3M from Oliver!  
> and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_SlAzsXa7E by Miike Snow


	5. Step 4: Avoid Acts of Violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian miscalculates.

Damian wakes up groggy and irritable, but that’s not unexpected. Dick had wandered out sometime after their domestic, found him half asleep on the couch and carried him back into his room. He had not slept well.

 

He’d said horrible things last night, and he’d meant some of them. He doesn’t know how to fix it. He doesn’t want to take the words back exactly. They needed to be said, it’s just-

 

He shouldn’t have said them like that.

 

It’s very quiet over breakfast the next morning.

 

Dick hands Damian a yogurt parfait. “I made it last night.” He mutters. “It shouldn’t go to waste.”

 

Damian nods and digs his spoon in. The guilt rolls in his stomach.

 

He looks up. “I apologize Richard. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

 

Richard leans against the counter on the other side of the kitchen and won’t meet Damian’s eye. His makeup is already done, heavy on the highlighter and mostly in delicate shades of pastels. He’s already wearing his sunglasses. Usually he doesn’t wear them inside, but usually he closes the blinds before Damian gets up and today the Talon left them open.

 

“I don’t know Damiam.” Dick finally murmurs softly. “I think maybe some of it needed to be said.”

 

Damian swallows and looks up. “Does that mean you do not accept my apology?”

 

Dick shrugs. “It means...I know you’re unhappy right now Damian, and I don’t know how to fix it. I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what’s really wrong.” He hangs his head. “Maybe you’re right, maybe I’m just getting in the way.”

 

“That’s...not really what I meant Richard.”

 

“Well, what did you mean?”

 

 “You don’t need to look after me. I was raised to be self-sufficient and have been since I was nine.”

 

Dick nods. There’s a long silence. “I don’t think you’re me, or anything. I know it doesn’t fix what happened to me to help you, but when I think about what happened to me I get so angry I-....”

 

There’s another long pause. “All it would have taken was for one person to try and help me. If just one person had tried to protect me than I might have lived. But no one did. I couldn’t risk the same thing happening to you. I was the person who did something.”

 

“I didn’t need saving!”  Damian shouts. “Father would never have allowed anyone to hurt me!”

 

Dick shrugs. “It’s how I feel. Felt. Whatever.”

 

Damian stares at him. “I’m not like you. I’m not broken.” He sneers, feeling something like panic beating against his ribcage and not knowing why. He had lashed out in anger last night, he hadn’t expect Talon to agree with him.

 

“I know. I just really wanted to make sure you stayed that way.”

 

Damian feels his bottom lip tremble. “I know.” He finally admits. “I know you’ve only ever tried to help me.” He says in a small voice. “You just...need to understand you don’t have to. Father would take me back, if you ever decided...-“

 

Dicks face suddenly clears as he understands something. “You’re not a burden Damian. You could never be a burden. You saved me, remember? How could the person who rescued me be a burden?

 

Damian just stares at Dick for a long moment before glancing at the clock in the kitchen.

 

“I refuse to discuss this further. We need to leave now or I will be late for class.”

 

Dick sighs heavily. “Fine. But, if you think I’m letting this go: I am not.”

 

#

 

 

Dick doesn’t hold Damian’s hand when he walks him to the biology building this morning.

 

Damian has a practical lab this morning and he was still on academic probation ever since the whole ‘academic, underage ghostwriter incident’ that he had only wiggled out of being permanently banned for because he was a child, a prodigy and his father had probably made a large donation to keep him from being booted. That or someone had made an impassioned argument that if he was denied access to higher education he’d probably end up becoming a supervillain out of sheer boredom. 

 

Which given his current mood and his behaviour over the last day was a sobering thought.

 

So, he made a point of never missing a class, and always being as professional as he could while there. 

Dick walks him to the door of his building but doesn’t go in because he did actually get expelled and probably technically shouldn’t even be on campus, but neither of them are comfortable being separated for too long. Even with how tense the last few days have been Damian feels better with Richard nearby. Especially with how tense the last few days have been.

 

Damian has barely slept. He feels slightly sick, very frustrated and most infuriatingly of all like he might burst into tears at the slightest provocation.

 

He wished Richard was allowed to come to class with him. He wished he hadn’t yelled at Richard so he might want to.

 

The lab is a group project, and they’ve helpfully already pulled a step-stool up to the station where he will be working. It’s a basic chemistry class, which he could do in his sleep, but which he must complete in order to meet the prerequisites for classes where he might actually learn something.

 

He is not allowed to be group leader, in any of his classes, which he felt was discrimination based on age, and had tried to bring that up with the administration but they had been very curt about the whole thing. “You’re here as a courtesy and a privilege, Robin.”

 

The TA hands Damian a print-out for their current lab assignment as Damian walks by on the way to his usual spot on the lab bench.

 

Damian scowls and looks down at his packet, which the professor had labeled with his current civilian alias “ROBIN SMITH” in big block hand printed letters at the top. He snuck a glance at his neighbours. Their forms had not been labeled. 

 

That is infuriating. He is here on merit. He does not need to be coddled, and given that he was technically in hiding from the League of Assassins, he does not need to be singled out. 

 

“Everyone understand everything?” the TA asks as she walks around the class. They all nod. 

Damian reaches out to try and begin the work. “Hey!” one of his neighbours barks.”You’re not wearing gloves. You need to follow proper safety procedure, Robin!”

 

Damian whirls around and glares at her, test tube still in hand. “The chemicals are still sealed, unless you believe that I am incapable of handling glass without harming myself!”

 

She put her hands up. “There is no need to yell. I’m just looking out for you.”

 

Damian glares and her and turns back to his station exaggeratedly putting on his gloves, and opening the container to begin pipetting liquid into his test tubes, and muttering swearwords in Arabic under his breath the whole time. 

 

One of his group members snickers. “Rookie mistake. The anti-christ doesn’t need looking after. Right, Damian?”

 

Damian looks up at his neighbour, wide eyed. “What?”

 

“I said, you don’t need looking after? Do you, Damian?” He puts his hand on Damian’s arm.

 

 

It’s surprising how easily Damian can slip into the old mindset. Like flipping a switch.

 

No one in this state is supposed to know that name other than Dick. All their documentation lists his name as Robin, even Father rarely refers to him as anything else.

 

It must be an agent of Mother’s. Young, in order to fit in and therefore inexperienced in fieldwork which is why he’d flubbed his lines on the name. She’d kill him for blowing his cover. 

 

It was unlikely he had any mission other than surveillance

 

It is possible that it’s something else. Some reference or American-lexicon moment that eludes Damian. It is more likely that this is a test, that the agent has been ordered to give Damian this clue that he is about to attack, that Damian is already caught in a web, and his only back-up is blocks away drinking over-sweetened chai and flirting with sorority girls  who won’t take him seriously because, if Damian remembers correctly, he’s wearing metallic gold eyeliner today.

 

The safest response is to react, because whatever the truth he will learn more about the situation. The risk of inaction is far too high. Violence is familiar. He’s used to these split second choices that feel calmly and rationally considered but are actually close to instantaneous.

 

Damian grabs the nearest test tube, smashing the end against the table and stabs the boy in the arm with it.

 

He screams and lets go. Damian ducks and runs. Everyone in the class steps back. The TA makes a move to grab at him, but someone next to her pulls her back.

 

If the boy had been one of Mother’s agents he would have avoided that first strike and produced a weapon to defend himself. If there had been a trap someone in the class would have tried to prevent Damian’s escape. This is going to cause problems.

 

The university was going to object to his lashing out violently against another student and come after him. 

He reaches down to grab his phone and call Grayson, but- he’d left it in his bag in the classroom. A sloppy mistake that would have cost him everything had the danger been real.

 

#

 

 

Dick is happily sitting and pretending to drink a latte while reading a book of classic poetry for a project in his online english class, trying to remember if he’d ever eaten a plum, and if he had what they might have tasted like when he hears someone at the next table loudly say something about an attack in the science lab and his heart sinks. 

 

He turns around in his chair and after taking a deep breath and steeling himself, reaches over to tap the person at the next table on the shoulder. 

 

 

“Hi!” he smiles a little ruefully, he’d practiced the expression in the mirror to get it just right, “Did you say a kid attacked someone?”

 

The smile and the makeup have the intended effect and the student answers him. “Yeah, there’s some prodigy that’s in my friends chem lab, and he stabbed his partner and ran out-“ 

 

Dick leaps to his feet. “Thanks, I got to go-“ he shoves his book into his bag and runs. 

 

Damian had been off this morning. Dick had known that. Damian has been upset for days, even before Bruce came to vist/ruin everything. He’d hardly even slept last night. Of course he shouldn’t have gone to class but, he’d wanted to  and Dick had been watching a parenting videos and they said routine was important so he’d let it slide, but he should have realized...

 

They had both spent so long and tried so hard to not be dangerous. They hadn’t hurt anyone since they’d moved here. 

 

For Damian to have hurt someone, it would have to be situation that might logically look like a threat. Damian didn’t react without thinking. It just wasn’t like him. 

 

Dick slams the door to the Biology building open and skids on the freshly waxed laminate as he takes a corner. 

 

He sees the students milling about near the door to the classroom and the professor and TA talking to someone from security. He skids to a stop in front of them, hands on his hidden knives. 

 

“I’m Alexander, Robin’s brother. I heard he stabbed someone, where is he?”

 

“I don’t know he ran-“ The TA says starting to point.

 

That’s all Dick needs to know and he takes off again, scanning the floor for blood or other signs, not that Damian would have been sloppy but if his primary aim had been flight, he might not have prioritized covering his tracks. 

 

There’s nothing. Dick stops and pauses. There had been no sign of a fight, or a struggle which meant-

-Damain must have reacted to something he’d thought was a genuine threat, but he’d been wrong. 

 

So he’d have been frightened, very frightened initially, but then embarrassed when it turned out to be a false threat. 

 

Dick backtracks and then tries the doors to other classes along the hall. 

 

Most are open. One is locked. He goes back and finds the security officer who unlocks it for him.

 

It’s an empty lecture hall, the lights are off, but he knows where he would hide if it were him. He climbs to the top of the stairs and looks under the long line of the desk with the chairs that swing out. 

 

Damian is crouched underneath the desk, behind one of the swinging chairs, and close to the secondary exit. If he’d been pursued he’d have been able to leave by the second door before anyone would have gotten close to him. 

 

He looks his age for once. Puffy eyed and tear stained. 

 

Dick crouches down next to him. Damian’s rubbing at his hands. He has dried blood on them. 

 

“Damian,” he whispers. “What did you do?”

 

“It was a calculated risk. The odds of it being one of her operatives was too high for me to risk inaction.” He reports in a thick, unhappy voice.  “The consequences of doing nothing would have been too horrible.”

 

Dick swallows. “You stabbed another student, Dami! There will be consequences now.”

 

Damian turns to look at him, and his eyes seem strangely vacant. “I’m willing to live with them. It was a calculated risk.” He repeats. “The odds of him being one of her operatives was too high-“

 

“Damian why did you think that?!”

 

Damian blinks and frowns. “He knew my name. My real name. He called me Damian.”

 

That sends a chill down Dick’s spine.  He can’t help the hiss of his breath at that. No one at the university knows their real names, though they must suspect that Damian is at least an illegitimate Wayne, given Bruce’s visits. But, the only name anyone in Wisconsin should know them by are Alexander and Robin Smith. That was the whole point of their lives here- a fresh start.

 

He gets down and sits under the desk with Damian. “What are we going to do?” he whispers. “I had to get the security guard to open the door for me. He knows we’re in here.” 

 

Damian shudders, and presses his face into Dick’s arm. “Is he okay?” he asks in a small voice. “The boy I stabbed?”

 

Dick thinks about it. He’d been in such a panic that he hadn’t thought to ask. He was too used to lethal methods to have considered that the victim had any status other than ‘dead’. There had been an ambulance near the door of the building.

 

“Did you intend for him to be okay?”

 

There’s a long pause. “no.” Damian finally answers in a small voice. 

 

“Did you intend to injure him in a way he might recover from?”

 

“Yes.” He answers more firmly this time. 

 

Dick has faith in Damian’s skill as an assassin.

 

“Then he’s not okay, but he’ll be fine in the long run.”

 

Damian presses his head more firmly into Dick’s shoulder, and he thinks of what Supernanny would do in this situation. Time to be the adult. 

 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do.” He announces. “I’m going to carry you out of here, and I’m going to calmly and purposefully walk past anyone who tries to stop us, and we are going to go home. And whatever the consequences are, we will deal with them, tomorrow.” 

 

He pushes Damian back so that he can meet his eye. “Okay?”

 

Damian nods, and sniffs. Wiping at his face. “Okay.” 

 

They crawl out from under the desk, and that’s what they do. Dick scoops him up into his arms, and Damian clings to him like a koala, and calmly and purposefully Dick walks them out of there.

 

There’s a police officer coming in as well now. Not campus security, but a city cop. Dick doesn’t break his stride.  Damians digs his face into Dick’s neck, and allows his breathing to hitch and become shaky. He’s too old to be carried like this.

 

“I’m taking him home.” Dick informs the pair of officers. He’s wearing the expression he learned from television the one that says this is happening, so get out of the way or get mown down.

 

“Okay.” The cop says, serious but sympathetic. “But, it will be quicker to just get this all over with. Why don’t you go home, clean him up, and drive yourself to the station so we can sort out this whole mess as quickly as possible?”

 

Dick can imagine what he was told by the teachers and the other students. An eleven year old who committed fraud because he wanted to go to university, someone brilliant and trouble with a skewed moral centre who everyone treats delicately because he could be the next Lex Luthor, in both sense of the word

 

It probably helps that Damian hasn’t hit any growth spurts at all yet and has a baby face to begin with. He looks young and pathetic, and from where he’s standing the police officer probably can’t see the blood on his hands.

 

Dick considers their options. He could cause even more of a scene, he could resist, he could agree to show up at leave town with Damian, or he could try and do what a normal person would in this situation.

 

He decides to comply with the officer.

 

“Of course ma’am. We’ll do that right away.”

 

 

#

 

 

Jason has ordered room service, and is happily sprawled out on a king sized bed in Bruce’s massive presidential suite at the Edgewater heckling a home renovation show,

 

“YOU CALL THAT AN ACCENT? TRY A DINOSAUR YOU TINY BITCH!” he hollers as a woman reveals her plan for a burnt orange accent wall with the sort of drama that suggests the idea is so radical she is in danger of being institutionalized.

 

He’s toying with the idea of charging a bunch of porn to the room just to fuck with Bruce, when a cell phone rings, somewhere in a distant part of the suite.

 

He swears to himself and begins wandering around looking for it.

 

Tim is out at a business meeting, so it can’t be one of his phones. But, for the life of him, Jason cannot figure out whose phone it is.

 

Jason only has the one, and it’s by the bed. Does Bruce even have a phone other than the bat-phone?

 

Bruce returns from wherever he had disappeared about an hour ago, either to go to the gym or fight crime it was really anyone’s guess, and stands by the door looking shocked and confused to find Jason tearing apart the living room area of the suite while wearing a complimentary bathrobe and a pair of fuzzy socks .

 

In typical Bruce fashion he makes absolutely no move to help Jason find the damn phone that won’t stop ringing and instead wanders off with his gym bag to change.

 

Finally Jason finds the phone after crawling on his hands and knees around the couch and discovering it plugged in to a socket that is somehow incorporated into the side table.

 

It’s Bruce Wayne’s personal phone which explains a lot. No one calls Bruce for any Wayne Enterprises business on this phone, or anything Batman related.

 

Jason stands there frowning at the phone and the ‘Unknown Number’ notification and trying to figure out who could possibly be calling. The only person who even really used this phone was-

 

“Oh. FUCK-“  This was either the Demon brat or someone calling about the demon brat. Jason hurriedly mashes the answer button.

 

“Bruce’s phone, this is Jason speaking.” 

 

He listens for a minute not sure whether to laugh or throw up at what he’s hearing.

 

 “Hold on a second.” Jason says, and miming routine, puts his hand over the speaker and shouts “BRUCE!  YOUR BIOLOGICAL OFFSPRINGSTABBEDSOMEON AT SCHOOL!!!”

 

Bruce nearly kicks the connecting door down. “WHAT?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment when you realize it's only the next day in your timeline and Bruce is still in Wisconsin. 
> 
> Funnily enough parts of this chapter are some of the first things I wrote for this story. 
> 
> I hope you don't mind it's a bit shorter. I just thought it was a more natural end point than, some of the other options. 
> 
> Comments as always are greatly appreciated!


	6. Step 5: Obey Reasonable Laws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody panics, except Tim who is the voice of reason.

Bruce bursts into the police station and walks up to the sergeant on duty. “I’m here in regards to Robin Smith, I’m his father and I’ve hear he’s-“

 

The woman smiles at him. “Oh, there’s no need to panic. He’s in Room 207 with Officer Montgomery going over everything that happened. You can take a seat. He’ll be out in just a minute."

 

Bruce feels himself stop pretending to be harmless, and the the officer steps back. He tries to bite back his panic but it’s rising like bile in his throat.

 

He should have done something to make sure that Damian was adjusting. He should have stepped in but Damian’s violence had always been so much a part of him that it had been something Bruce had just stopped seeing and Damian had made his feelings on everything Bruce represents very clear. That doesn’t excuse anything because whatever their feelings are Bruce is Damian’s father and it is his responsibility to make sure that Damian is alright. That he can function in society without stabbing random people in the arm and-

 

“How dare you take him in there alone! My son is a minor he cannot be interviewed without a parent or guardian present! Do you know who I am? I can make your lives hell and I will if I get even the slightest-“

 

“I’m sorry sir there must be some mistake, his guardian is with him.”

 

“What?”

 

“His guardian was the one who brought him in. His older brother, I believe. I would have thought you were aware.”

 

Bruce tilts his head. “Room 207 did you say?”

 

“Sir, you can’t just go back there- sir!”

 

It’s moments like these that Bruce relishes being Bruce Wayne. Batman could infiltrate this station with time and considerable effort. Bruce Wayne can storm in the front doors and all but kick open an interview room and no one even moves to stop him.

 

Everyone sitting around table jumps when he slams the door open. Richard Grayson practically leaps out of his chair and into the nearest corner like a startled cat, and then stands there back to the wall eyeing Damian desperately before he visibly gathers his courage and lunges forward to put himself between Bruce and his son.

 

Until now Bruce has chosen to view the Talon’s imprinting on his ten-year old as something almost sweet, but right now Bruce would like to throttle the assassin.

 

“What is going on here?” Bruce hisses.   


The Talon swallows and opens his mouth to answer but he’s interrupted.

 

“I’m conducting an interview, sir. And I’d like to know who the hell you think you are barging in like this!” The officer shouts, half-way out of the chair and looking enraged.

 

“I’m the boy’s father and I want to know why I wasn’t contacted the minute he was brought here!”

 

“I would have thought that would be obvious, Father.” Damian answers with a small calm voice. “We were hoping you wouldn’t find out.”

 

Bruce clenches his teeth, and the Talon steps aside so Bruce can actually see his son, sitting hunched over at the cheap metal table, still small enough that his feet don’t touch the ground.

 

“Of course I found out Robin! And of course I came! You’re my son! You choosing to live here doesn’t change that.”

 

The officer shuffles some paperwork. “I’m sorry has there been an error, we have Alexander Smith-“ she nods at the Talon. “Listed as the guardian for Robin Smith. Is that incorrect?”

 

Bruce glares at Richard Grayson. “That is...technically accurate, we have an informal custody arrangement that left Robin in his care, but I am Robin’s parent, and I have never ceded any of my legal rights to him. I don’t blame you, Officer, but one of these boys should have informed me of what was going on!”

  
“We had it under control.” Grayson mutters with his chin somewhere down around his clavicle.

 

“I’m sorry? It doesn’t seem under control to me. You don’t even have a lawyer.”

 

“We don’t need one. It’s a first offence, and we’re willing to cooperate with law enforcement on this. We were just finishing going over the plea deal when you walked in.”  


“What’s the deal?”

 

The officer hands him the piece of paper. Counseling and community service, as well as an assessment from a social worker, it would be on his record as an assault with the opportunity to be expunged once he was eighteen.

 

Bruce frowns and hands it back. “Absolutely not. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.”

 

“With all due respect Mr. Wayne- there is no point in taking this to trial. There are dozens of witnesses, and most agree that your son acted out of surprise and fear. The police, and the school are working for what’s best for Robin right now, but if you take this to court, given your background and... _history_ the judge may decide to make an example of your son. I don’t think a juvenile detention facility would be beneficial to him at this point, or prove anything to anyone, but that’s where he might end up if you pursue this.”

 

Bruce sighs and is about to open his mouth when Tim runs around the corner and through the open door.

 

“Bruce!” he gasps, over dramatically faking being winded by his run. “You need to remember I have shorter legs than you! I thought I was never going to catch up!”  He smiles at the detective and holds out his hand. “Timothy Drake-Wayne. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope he hasn’t caused too much of a scene.”

 

The detective rolls her eyes. “It’s been something.”

 

Tim pastes on a very wide very fake smile. “I know how he can be, and on behalf of Wayne Enterprises, let me apologize for any harm, embarrassment or discomfort his words or actions may have caused, but we’re hoping that we could get a copy of any plea deal that is being discussed, show it to our lawyers to confirm that it’s a fair deal and then reconvene to settle the matter tomorrow? Would that be alright?”

 

“We don’t need to speak to lawyers!” The Talon protests, now standing to block Tim from Damian. “Robin and I have decided-“

 

“I don’t see the harm.” The officer chimes in. “And it will give you the opportunity to take this little family dispute elsewhere.”

 

Damian stands abruptly. “I’m incredibly embarrassed by the scene that my relations are making on my behalf. We will of course leave to settle this and inform you once a decision has been made.” He very solemnly informs the police officer.

 

He turns to look up at the Talon. “Let’s go home.”

 

The Talon shoves his way past Bruce and Tim, and heads for the exit. They follow after on his heels, but neither the Talon nor Damian acknowledge them.

 

They pile into a burgundy Honda Civic without so much as meeting anyone’s eye.

 

Bruce is about ready to jump in his car and race after them, but Tim all but leaps in front of him. He grabs Bruce by the biceps and plants his weight and says. “No.”

 

Bruce frowns. “What are you talking about?”

 

“You are not going to go in there and throw your weight around. I know what this is about, _I know you_. But. They. Don’t.”

 

Bruce stares at Tim. “What?”

 

“You are not going to make the same mistake again Bruce. Not after what happened to Jason. Not after what losing Jason almost turned you into.”

 

“This isn’t the same at all.”

 

“It’s exactly the same!” Tim hisses. “You scared he’s gonna get hurt. You’re scared he’s already hurt in ways you can’t fix, so you’re gonna try and force this situation into something you can control. But, if you do that you will never see him again. And it will be just like Jason only you’ll never find the body. You’ll never even know.”

 

“HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT?!”

 

“The scene you just made means the League of Assassins is going to find them. You realize that, right?” Of course Bruce does, but if Damian is with him than Batman can protect Damian and his pet Talon. He’ll convince them to move back to Gotham if he has to.

 

Tim get that look he gets sometimes which has made Bruce strongly consider having him tested for the meta-gene. Telepathy would explain a lot when it came to Tim.

 

 “You try and bring them back to Gotham they will run and they’ll either disappear so well neither you or the League will ever find them, or they won’t and the League _will_ find them and then who the fuck knows what happens to Damian?!” Tim continues, not giving Bruce the opportunity to object. “Talia’s tried to kill him once already, she might finish the job. Or she might finish moulding him into the perfect Al Ghul heir. And what they’d do to Richard...well _that_ doesn’t even bear thinking about.”

 

“All the more reason for them to come back to Gotham where I can protect them!”

 

“All the more reason you need to stop and think and treat him like an actual human child and not some piece of property you and Talia are squabbling over!” Tim shoutss in his face.

 

“That’s never been how I think of him!”

 

“I know that! But, _he doesn’t_. And Richard _really_ doesn’t. They’re scared and if you burst in there you’re just going to scare them even worse! And they’ll run. Because they’re already TERRIFIED, in case you hadn’t noticed!!” Tim screams practically standing on his tiptoes to be better able to yell in Bruce’s face.

 

That point finally lands. Bruce has never wanted children to be afraid. He’s never wanted his own children to fear him. He’s only ever tried to protect them, and give them the tools that they didn’t have to be afraid of anything.

 

He deflates a little, and let’s go of his outrage. They hadn’t meant it as an insult. Tim was right. They’d been afraid to call him. It stings worse than being dismissed.

 

“I thought he was okay. I thought...I thought Damian was getting better here.” Burce admits, feeling his voice crack a little.

 

“We all did.” Tim agrees with a solemn look on his face and a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Based on my surveillance he has been, but there’s been a bit of...regression in the last few weeks.”

 

“I don’t know...how to be with him. I don’t know how to talk to him. I don’t know how to _help_ him.”   


“I know.”

 

“Where is Jason?”

 

“Watching the apartment, already. I figured we might need to head off an escape attempt at the pass.”

 

Bruce takes a deep breath. “Fine.”

 

“You calm now? Or are we gonna have to stand in this parking lot for half-an hour?”

 

Bruce checks his watch. “Give me another fifteen minutes.”

 

Tim nods. “Anything you need, big guy.”

 

 

#

 

 

Grayson had insisted on constructing what he called a ‘fort’, much like the ones he used to make in the corner of his cell. A slightly more defensible area that would hinder an attacker in their approach. There were a lot of pillows involved and furniture strategically placed to be tripped over. It was ridiculous, but Damian allowed it. He had stabbed someone today and Dick hadn’t even gotten angry.

 

“So, what’s all this about?” Dick asks once the sheets are draped and the pillows are arranged according to his specifications. “Really.”

 

Damian sits cross legged on a throw pillow and shrugs. “Nothing. I told you, I made a miscalculation.”

 

Talon gives Damian a disbelieving look. “I’m not just talking about that. I’m talking about last night, and this morning and how you’ve barely slept in weeks.”

 

“I fail to see what you’re talking about.”

 

Dick pulls a face. “I’m not stupid Damian! You’ve been off for days, don’t think I haven’t noticed. I shouldn’t have let you go this morning but I thought making a big deal would just throw you off more.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“Is it your father’s latest project? Duke?”

 

Damian does his best withering glare, though Dick is closer to the mark than he would like. “No.”

 

“Well, it’s something. You haven’t been sleeping, and now you stabbed someone and if you think your father won’t be descending on us like the fucking plague any second you have another thing coming.”

 

Damian scowls, and then makes a decision. He reaches out and grabs Dick’s arm and then, with some weaving and ducking, leaves the fort and tows him into his bedroom.

 

It’s strange, having him there. Damian is aware that Dick must enter to put Damian to bed whenever he falls asleep on the couch but, as a rule they do not spend time with each other in their respective bedrooms. They are private areas.

 

Damian walks to the closet and moves aside his clothes. The single mark on the wall sits there, mocking him. He turns to look at Dick who has his head cocked like a confused parrot.

 

Damian lines up next to the mark. “I haven’t grown. Not in months.”

 

He pulls his old boots out from the closet and throws them into the room. “Maybe not in years.”

 

He sits down on his bed. His room is sombre and serious and looks like it’s a spare bedroom decorated by a middle aged bachelor. “It might be something like what happened to my brother.”

 

Dick blinks. “What about Jason? Or do you mean Tim?”   


Damian folds in half and puts his arms over his head, like he’s a passenger in a plane that’s crashing. “No. _My_ brother. Father would like to believe it’s a clone, because then he doesn’t have to consider that I am as equally engineered as this latest...abomination. Mother replaced me, only she tampered with the process and he looks like an adult.”

 

“Even though he’s...how old?”

 

Damian shrugs. “A year, maybe two years old?”

 

Dick makes a gagging noise. “That’s sick.”

 

He walks to stand in front of Damian, out of arms reach though, which is good. Damian feels fragile, and frightened, he’s not sure how he’ll react if Dick comes closer.

 

“Yes. And I haven’t grown since my mother left me in Gotham.”

 

Dick stoops to pick up the boot. “At all? Are you sure?”

 

Damian shrugs. “I only began tracking it after I moved here, but the boots still fit. So, it seems logical to conclude I haven’t grown.”

 

“But, that’s not that unusual is it? Kids sometimes have a lull before they hit puberty...right? I’m pretty sure I read that.”  The Talon starts pacing. “Do you think we should see a doctor?”   


“And tell me, pray, what doctor exists that you or I could ever possibly trust?”

 

Dick opens his mouth, closes it, and looks away. He looks at Damian very sadly. “I’m sorry for what she did, and I’m sorry about your brother. He doesn’t deserve whatever she’s down to him.”

 

Damian shakes his head and sniffs trying to fight back the burning in his eyes. “Father doesn’t think he’s even a real person. He’s inconsequential. D-do you t-think that means if he knew about me, about how I wasn’t born normally t-that he wouldn’t think I was-“

 

Dick kneels down in front of Damian. “Your father doesn’t understand anything.” He hisses. “Your father is a fool.” He cups Damian’s face. “You are as real as anyone in the entire world. I can’t fix him though. He’ll never be what you want.”

 

Damian scowls and looks away. “Maybe he won’t come if he decides the plea deal is reasonable.”

 

Dick sits down next to him. “Maybe.”

 

“There’s a facility that rehabilitates young offenders who display signs of psychopathy or sociopathy. They deincentivize anti-social behaviours through cognitive behaviour therapy and pavlovian tactics. They have an excellent success rate. And it’s in state, maybe I could go there.”

 

Dick rubs Damian’s back. “Except no one would say you are a psychopath, Damian.”

 

“I would have been. If I stayed with Mother. I was already developing symptoms- violence, anger, fragile but inflated ego, and killing small animals.”

 

“And I’ve killed plenty of _people,_ Damian. It’s not the same thing.”

 

“I know! I’m just suggesting it might appease the young man who is suffering due to my actions!”

 

“Even if he wanted it, you said the facility is for repeat offenders. I say we go with something closer to the truth. PTSD, he said your name you reacted violently without thinking, because that was the name your mother called you when she was angry and hurting you. They’ll buy it.”

 

“I don’t want to go to jail. Not even juvenile detention.”

 

“You’re the prodigy son of a billionaire. If I know anything about America, you’ll be fine.”

 

Damian nods and stares at his feet. Dick sighs.

 

“We don’t even know if you have a problem. It could just be a lull.”

 

“Yes.” Damian answers hollowly. “It could be nothing.”

 

Dick bites his lip and Damian whacks him automatically.

 

“I watched a new movie with a dance number we could try to learn.” Dick suggests. “Since you don’t seem to want to sit in the fort.”

 

Damian puts his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what Father will say when he gets here.”

 

“Hey, didn’t I say we’d deal with all these problems once they get here and not before?”

 

Damian looks up and nods once, looking miserable.

 

“So, how about, we go back to the fort and watch whatever you want until you get tired? Or your Father shows up. Whichever comes first.”

 

Damian shrugs. Dick nudges him and smiles a desperate painted on smile. “Chin up little bird, things will be better in the morning.”

 

Damian huffs. “When has that ever been true?”

 

Dick grins, a real one this time, “Well, one of these days it might be!”

 

That makes Damian laugh, and they go back to the stupid fort, but Damian refuses to allow Dick to poison is mind with any more saccharine inanity. So, they watch Planet Earth II, the Islands episode, and Damian tries not to flinch when an invading species of ant destroys the crab based eco-system.

 

After two episodes he finally voices what had been his first thought after stabbing that boy.

 

“We could run away. There are options.” Damian mutters. “Remote properties we could buy and build on. Security we could implement. It would be possible to escape detection for years.”

 

“But, what then? We live in some compound and stare at each other until you’re legally of age?” Talon scoffs.  “I’m not building my own prison if it’s all the same.”

 

Damian shakes his head. “You don’t understand! He’s right, she’ll find me! She’ll find us and when she does...I have no idea what she’ll do. To me, but especially you. She might gut you alive or she might make you one of her soldiers. I DON’T KNOW! I don’t know what she’ll do.”  He pulls at his hair. “I can’t risk it.”

 

“Well, don’t worry about me. I told you I’d stick by you and I meant it. I’m not going to let her drive you out of somewhere that you’re happy. I’ll fight for you Damian. I’ll protect you. We’re two little birds in a world of owls. We need to stick together.

 

Damian stares at him. “Ok.” His heart is in his mouth, and it’s so much more frightening to run away from someone who cares than it is to do so from someone you believe is indifferent.

 

Dick nods. “Ok. We split up. You pick up the go bag at cache location Delta, I’ll hit cache location Alpha, we’ll meet at the rendez-vous and choose a direction.”

 

Damian gulps. “He’ll look for us. Mother as well, even if she hasn’t found us yet.”

 

Damian tries not to notice that Dick’s hands are shaking. “I know some people who might be able to help. They’d be able to muddy our trail if nothing else.”

 

Damian takes a shakey breath. “Are you sure we shouldn’t go back to Gotham?”

 

Dick freezes. “We can’t. You might be safe if you do, but me...” He bites his lip. “I’d be worse than dead pretty quickly if I go back.”

 

Damian shakes his head. “You’re right. It’s not an option.”

 

He glances at Titus. “What about the pets.”

 

Dick is still chewing on his lip. “We could leave them. Your father would look after them.”

 

Damian scowls at Dick. “It’s out of the question.”

 

Dick sighs. “Okay. You take Titus, and I’ll carry Alfred in his case. That way you have your hands free.”  
 

Damian nods, and stands on the couch to take his sword off the wall. “Understood.”

 

Dick nods and flits off to catch the cat. Damian starts gathering the few belongings he plans on taking and sorting the ones that must be destroyed into another pile.

 

“Dick, where’s your phone?”   


The Talon throws it to him and Damian catches it out of the air.

 

He throws the pile of electronics into the microwave and starts the timer. He grabs the go bag he keeps packed in his closet and whistles for Titus.

 

 

#

 

 

When Bruce pulls up in front of the apartment building he half expects to be told by the doorman that the boys have left instructions for nobody to be let up. Instead the doorman tells him that the boys have never allowed any one at all up to the penthouse. 

 

Bruce takes the steps two at a time as he rushes up the stairs. He’s already reduced the doorman to tears and strong armed him into calling up to make the boys in the penthouse let him in.

 

He should have taken the elevator but he’d thought that a few minutes of enforced stillness would have made him more, not less angry

 

It probably said something that either of these killers had allowed themselves to be bullied into letting him up, but, well, he was Batman after all. He probably would have been able to get through the security given enough time and determination, but he was not in the mood for any of this today.

 

Bruce is about ready to kick the door down but Damian opens it before his can. His son looks smaller than usual in dark clothing.

 

“Father, come in.”

 

The Talon is sitting on the couch and watches him warily. A large patch of the Talon’s makeup has rubbed off and the white of his skin shows through starkly next to the darker tone of the foundation.

 

There’s a large black duffle bags next to the couch.

 

Bruce can smell melted plastic coming from the kitchen.

 

They’d been hoping to be gone before he got here.

 

 “What happened?” Bruce growls.

 

Damian stares at Bruce wide eyed, stone-faced, and straight backed as always. “Father, I take full responsibility. Grayson has-“

 

Bruce never thought he’d long for Jason’s rage, but the violence and the insults at least had been clear and unequivocal. Damian, was so much harder to read.  So much harder to know when Bruce did something right, and when he did something wrong.

 

“Damian.” Bruce says more gently through gritted teeth. “What. Happened.”

 

Damian ducks his head and looks at his feet. “He knew my name. Or at least he called me by it. By my real name, and I had to assume he was an agent of Mother’s.”

 

“He called you Damian?”

 

Damian nods.

 

“In what context?”

 

“I had been rude to someone, and he said something about a rookie mistake and the antichrist and then he called me Damian.”

 

It’s so completely stupidly simple that Bruce has to close his eyes and take a deep breath to keep from screaming at the pair of them and maybe flipping the table. He is dangerously close to losing his temper completely.

 

“There is an old horror movie, called The Omen which features a child named Damian who is the anti-christ.”  Bruce explains, wondering how after living with Jason as a legal guardian for months this little tidbit of information had never managed to reach his youngest son.

 

He supposes it actually reflect pretty well on Jason, considering Damian had been ten at the time, and very difficult to live with and had a name that most Americans associated as being the actual son of the literal devil. It’s unexpectedly restrained of Jason not to have thrown it in the boy’s face at least once.

 

“Oh.” Is all Damian says, his shoulders slumping. “I see.”

 

“And what about you?” Bruce snarls as his eyes catch on the Talon again. “I trusted you with Damian. I had my reservations but Jason and Tim convinced me he would be well looked after with you. What do you have to say for yourself?”

 

The Talon shivers and looks away, hunching against the force of Bruce’s anger.

 

Damian snaps to attention, chin up, as he scuttles between Bruce and the Talon. “Father, I take full responsibility for this, Grayson had-“

 

“Grayson is the adult. Grayson is your guardian. _Grayson_ , should have called _me_ when this happened.” Bruce snarls.

 

Damian’s mouth drops open and he turns to look at the Talon who looks equally shocked. It hadn’t even occurred to either of them that they should call Bruce Wayne for help.

 

Jason had tried to explain the Talon’s horror of vigilantes to him, and the Batman in particular, but it wasn’t something Bruce had bothered to pay much attention to. Call it pettiness, but he didn’t feel inclined to accommodate the young man who’d kidnapped his son, even if it had been less a kidnapping and more a runaway situation.

 

He blamed the Talon, as unfair as he knew it was, because the Talon knew how to look after Damian, and Bruce didn’t.

 

Bruce takes a deep breath. Jason had been watching the apartment for hours. If they’d actually tried to run, he’d have stopped them before they got too far.

 

“Mr. Grayson, I’d like a moment to speak to my son alone.”

 

The Talon goes wide eyed behind his sunglasses, and immediately looks to Damian. “I’d rather stay if it’s all the same.”

 

“Damian.” Bruce says calmly. “I really just want to talk to you.”

 

Damian twists his hands together but nods jerkily. Bruce is acutely reminded of his first visit to Wisconsin when he’d made his son cry just by existing and the Talon had tried to stab him for the offense.

 

There’s a clicking of nails on hardwood and the Great Dane he'd bought Damian when he first came to Gotham bounds around the corner and jumps between the two of them wagging it's tail.

 

Damian smiles and the dog skitters around, too big and too lanky for anything like grace. Bruce ignores it and Damian calls it over and wraps his arms around it.

 

Titus. The dog’s name is Titus, after Shakespeare, Bruce was pretty sure

 

“Alright.” Damian says finally. 

 

Bruce looks at The Talon who looks poised to attack, and doesn’t seem inclined to move unless Bruce moves him. Instead he gently guides Damian into his bedroom.

 

“You need to come back to Gotham with me, Damian.” Bruce says gently. “Just for a little while. You won’t be safe here on your own.”

 

“I don’t see why you can’t continue to trust us as you have been for the past year.”

 

“Damian.” Bruce sighs, and gestures to the way the room has been ransacked, with Damian’s few valued possessions conspicuously sorted into piles on the bed. “You were going to run away again and put yourself and your friend at risk.”

 

Damian hangs his head, but then visibly steels himself and meets Bruce’s gaze with eyes that look suspiciously moist.  “ We were fine before! We can do it again it-“

 

“It won’t work this time. Talia’s probably already found you. The only place you’ll be safe is in Gotham under the protection of the Bat.”

 

“Grayson will protect me!”

 

Bruce doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but finally he knows what his little boy needs to hear, as much as it pains him to say it. “We’re not trying to take you away from Grayson. Damian. I promise. He’ll come back with us to Gotham. He can protect you there.”  


“He can’t! He’ll die! The Court will get him!”  Damian almost wails.

 

Bruce tries not to huff dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous. The Court is destroyed. I saw to that with his help, and anyone who tried to get to him would have to go through us. Wouldn’t they?”

 

Damian is blinking back tears and shaking his head. After a few gulping breaths he finally manages to spit out whatever he’s been trying to say. “Maybe...maybe I should go to Gotham without him.”

 

Bruce would like nothing more, but he’s not a complete idiot. “Damian...I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

 

“You don’t understand! This is his chance! He’s been doing so well here! He has friends, and my mother isn’t looking for him, and neither is the court. They’ll find him if he goes back to Gotham but they’re not looking...”

 

Bruce stares at Damian. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

 

Damian stamps his foot and screams. “SINCE WHEN DO YOU CARE WHETHER OR NOT SOMETHING IS A GOOD IDEA?!”

 

Bruce has so concede that point. He puts his hands on Damians shoulders and meets his gaze very intently. “If you change your mind, and you need him, if you want him to visit, or if you want to go visit him wherever he is...it will be okay, and I promise I will make it happen, okay?”

 

Damian looks away.

 

“Damian, please tell me that you understand I will not keep you away from Richard Grayson, and all you have to do is say the word if you want to see him.”

 

“I understand.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Bruce pulls out his phone and dials Tim. “We’re about to have a situation here. Jason’s already on site, but we’re probably going to need backup.” He hangs up and looks at Damian. “Do you want me to talk to him? He hates me already and this way he doesn’t need to know it’s your idea.”

 

“I’ll tell him. I owe him that.”

 

“You can always change your mind Damian.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

Bruce holds up his hands and Damian goes back out into the living room.

 

Jason has appeared from somewhere and is apparently deep in conversation with Dick about one of their framed posters. He smiles and waves awkwardly when he sees Damian.

 

“Nice place. I like what you’ve done with it.”

 

Damian glares. “Grayson did most of the decorating.”

 

Jason plops down over the back of the couch gracelessly. “Yeah, we’ve been getting into it.”

 

Damian looks at Dick. “I need to talk to you.”

 

Dick nods and looks at him expectantly.   


“Alone.” Damian adds with a glare at Jason.

 

Dick jerks his head towards his bedroom.

 

 #

 

The second the door closes Dick throws a knife. It sticks into the poster he’d bought weeks ago and which Damian had chosen to ignore rather than attempt to remove. It is a motivational poster that reads _“When it rains look for rainbows. When it’s dark look for stars.”_

 

Damian couldn’t see any metaphorical stars at the moment.

 

The knife vibrates where it sticks for a satisfying amount of time.  

 

It doesn’t fit in with the rest of Grayson’s cheerfully decorated room. The motivational posters and pretty inspirational sayings are at odds with the knife in the wall. It doesn’t go with the cases of make-up or the brightly coloured leggings. There’ a picture Damian had drawn of the Talon when they were both still living in the bat cave. Dick has it framed next to the bed he doesn't sleep in.  The knife goes with that, come to think of it. Damian almost thought he liked the tableau of the knife buried in the wall right above the poster but somehow echoing that simple black and white sketch of the Talon’s undead face.

 

Damian raises an eyebrow. “And what was the for?”

 

Dick huffs and drops backward onto his bed. “Everything. Your father’s timing. Our timing. This whole mess.”

 

Damian swallows. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I put us both in danger.”

 

Dick waves it off. “No big.”

 

Damian grits his teeth and darts forward grabbing Dick’s arm and shaking it. “Yes! Big! Very Big! I ruined everything!”  


Dick sits up looking concerned. “No, Damian. It’s not your fault. Mistakes happen and you were scared-“

 

“I was NOT scared!”

 

“- and you reacted in a way that for most of your life would have been correct.”

 

“I’m not getting better.”

 

Dick jerks in surprise. “What?!”

 

“I’m not like you, I’ve stopped improving. I’m not normal and no matter how much I try I can’t-“

 

Dick stares at Damian. “You can’t think that.”

 

“Of course I think that! It’s true! You have friends, and you’re doing your schooling and your dancing and your makeup and yoga, and what do I have? University courses and nothing at all else. Except you.”

 

“Okay, if this is the sort of nonsense you’ve started thinking about yourself than you will be attending my support group with me from now on. It’s not optional. This is ridiculous.”

 

“I’m leaving.”

 

“What?”

 

“Father is certain that Mother will find me in a matter of days if not hours. I need to relocate to somewhere more secure.”

 

“Well, he’s the one that stopped us-“

 

“He thinks he and his sons could provide a significant deterrent to a frontal assault on her part.”

 

“You _want_ to go back to Gotham?”

 

“I want to be _safe_ , but Mother’s not after you. If I went to Gotham and you stayed here than you would be safe. You wouldn’t be a target. It’s not like the League and the Court share their intelligence resources.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous Damian. Of course I’ll go to Gotham with you.”

 

“You hate my father.”

 

“Hate is a strong word.”

 

“You do.”

 

“So what? I hate a lot of things, and yet I live with them.”

 

“I’ve always wanted my Father to care about me. I was devastated when I thought he didn’t. This is my chance, Grayson. Maybe the last one I’ll get. I need to...I need to go there, and...be his son and see if I can measure up this time.”

 

“You said you’d never measure up because the expectations were impossible.”

 

“What?”

 

“You said the expectations your parents set took everything you had and even then you were never quite enough. Do you think he’s changed? Do you think somehow after everything this time is going to be different? How many times have you thought that? Every time he’s visited?”

 

“I have to try!”

 

“Then I’ll come with you and I’ll protect you!”   


“I don’t need your protection, I need you to be happy! And you’re happy here!”

 

“Exactly _! With you!_ With our lives!”

 

“What life? You have friends, hobbies, and a future. I have classes I despise more often than not and classmates who tolerate me.”

 

“You love school!”

 

“There’s school in Gotham!”

 

“Where is this coming from Damian?”

 

“It’s coming from me!”

 

“Are you going to tell him what you told me at least? About your brother? He at least would know a doctor you could trust.”

 

Damian hesitates, and Dick looks sadly triumphant. “See? Nothing’s really different. You still don’t trust him and he still will let you down.”

 

“It’s not up to you Grayson.”

  
“Well, I should get a vote at least.”

 

“No! This is my choice. I’m leaving. You’re staying here.”

 

“You don’t own me Damian Wayne! I’ll go wherever I damn well please!”

  
“Well, you’re not welcome in the manor!”

 

“Why would I ever want to go to that disgusting crumbling pile?”

 

“I’m leaving!”

  
“FINE”

 

“Don’t even _think_ about following me!”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it!”

 

“Goodbye!”

 

“Yeah, don’t let the door hit you on the way out!”

 

Damian storms out of the room and Dick sits on the floor with his head in his hands and listening to the sound of Damian putting together his things and leaving.

 

There’s a soft tap on the door and Dick looks up eagerly, hoping Damian won’t leave things like that.

 

It’s Jason. “Hey, Ricky G,” he says hesitantly. “You okay?”

 

Dick puts his head back in his hands. “Get out.”

 

“C’mon-“

 

“GET OUT!!!” he screams hurling some of his knives.

 

Jason ducks out and disappears. Dick doesn’t move for a long time.

 

#

 

 

Midnighter is asleep in his apartment, trying to snuggle with Andrew who is being very unhelpful in his dead asleep state and keeps twitching. But, they’ve only been back together for a few days and like hell is M giving up so...he’s attempting to snuggle. Attempting, and mostly failing, but he’s learned over the last few months that effort counts for a lot when it comes to relationships- at least relationships with Apollo. Except he’s gotten used to sleeping alone and Andrew is as close as you can get to a literal sungod and the heat the man give off is like a furnace, so.

 

So, it’s snuggle or sleep and Midnighter is not willing to make that choice right now.

 

But, all in all it’s almost a relief when the he gets a call.

 

There’s no one on the other line just breathing. The number pops up and it makes him frown. #239 Talon, the meta he’d met in that Wisconsin bar who’d had the kid and told him not to be a moron and go back to Apollo. It had been good advice, not that M had listened at the time.

 

“Talon? You okay?”

 

“M? M, I don’t know what to do. You’re a weapon and a person tell me what to do.”

 

“Talon.” M glances at Apollo, and heads towards his balcony. “Talon, what do you mean? What happened?”

 

“They took my kid. I don’t know- I don’t have anything.”

 

“Okay, Talon. I’ll get your kid back. Who took him-“

 

“He’s not my kid” there’s a ragged sound on the other end, something like a sob. “Not really. Never was. I thought I could be better, I thought I was-“

 

“Fuck it. Talon. Where are you?” Midnighter, stumbles inside and starts hopping into his pants. Leather. He wears too much fucking leather.

 

Andrew mumbles and sits up scrubbing his face and looking at M blearily.

 

“What’s happening?”

 

“Someone took a meta’s kid.” He tells him curtly. “I’m going to sort it out.”

 

“Oh.” Andrew flops back down and watches him from the pillow. “I’d come with but-“ he jerks his chin at the dark sky visible through the window onto the balcony. “Night-time. Sun-god. What can you do.”

 

Midnighter gives Apollo a look. “You and I both know that’s not how it works.”

 

Apollo is unaffected. “Do we though? Do we really?” Apollo yawns so wide his jaw cracks. “Have fun saving the kiddie. Try not to traumatise it too much.”  He rolls over.

 

Midnighter shakes his head and says “Door.”

 

It opens onto a stretch of highway in the middle of nowhere. It’s a few hours ahead, so the moon is already down. A shape is huddled on the guardrail.

 

He walks forward, and it takes him a second to recognize Talon.

 

In the half-light of bars and street lamps he looked ethereal. Something not really human but something else. Something interesting, mysterious and pretty. A meta, maybe not like most of the meta’s Midnighter knew, but close enough to look familiar. Close enough for M to see him across the street and thing ‘ah! One of mine...”

 

Now he just looked dead. Except the yellow eyes move to follow Midnighter as he walks up.

 

Talon is wearing leggings, and a big hoodie. It’s the middle of the night, it’s freezing. He’s not shivering.

 

“He wasn’t your kid?” Midnighter asks, because that seems like the only thing to say. “But someone took him?”

 

“Took him back.” Talon’s lips barely move. “His...father. His father took him back. I knew it would happen eventually, but I thought we would fight.” He tilts his head up. “He’s very strong... He’ll be a good soldier for him.” Talon nods to himself as though that’s a comforting thought, and not horrific. Talon had shown him a picture of the kid once. He looked about ten. “He’s like us.” Talon finally explains.

 

Midnighter’s mouth fills with the sour salty taste that usually precedes blowing chunks. He was made in a lab, whatever life he’d had before had been ripped out of his skull. All that was left was one charred picture of a boy that he’d once been but didn’t remember.

 

He’d lucked out beyond all reason, and beyond what he deserved in finding Apollo. Most people, as far as he could tell, didn’t get an Apollo.

 

“He’s a weapon?” Midnighter asks gently.

 

Talon nods. “That’s not what they’d call it, but that’s what it is.” He sighs. “They’ll use him, till he’s all used up and then they’ll find something else for him to do. They’re efficient like that. Waste not want not.”  He laughs hysterically, until M’s not sure whether he’s laughing or crying or both.

 

M considers the fact that he could be at home spooning Apollo right this second and he didn’t even get to punch anyone as a consolation prize.

 

“So, why the fuck did you call me? Usually people don’t just ask me to drop by for a chat. I’m the very best at one thing, and one thing only Talon.”

 

Talon just looks at him. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

 

M gets that. “Okay....we’ll..we’ll sort this out. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the longest chapter to write, possibly ever. I swear every single scene in it has at least two other versions. 
> 
> I'm updating a day early, so hope you all enjoy. Brucie finally makes some good parenting choices, and everyone continues to try very hard. 
> 
> M is a good bro. I'm not sure what to do with Apollo since they seemed to have changed him more than M when they rolled him into the DC-verse. In the Authority he's sort of definitely as much of a bastard as M, but in the Midnighter and Apollo series he was all about doing the right thing and being a hero etc. 
> 
> Anyway, next week's update may be late because it's being difficult. Hope you guys liked this! Comments always make my day!


	7. Step 6: Keep Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Batfamily tries to bond with Damian. Dick films makeup tutorials in M's living room.

Duke isn’t sure what he was expecting when he got the call that Damian Wayne was coming back to Gotham, but it sure as hell wasn’t the kid who arrived.

 

He’d been kind of excited. Damian was an infamous figure in Wayne Manor, often alluded to, only occasionally photographed and rarely directly spoken of. From the stories, and the hints he was supposed to be some sort of super-ninja prodigy demon-child with the entitlement of a Real Housewife.

 

When he rolled up carrying a case for a cat and walking a Great Dane, with just one backpack and one suitcase- Duke had honestly been disappointed.

 

Damian Wayne was twelve but looked about nine. He had been a bit chilly but soft-spoken and polite.

 

He had drifted away immediately without throwing any fits, performing any feats of acrobatics, and without even threatening violence against Tim, let alone attempting to murder him as Duke had been led to believe was the status quo prior to his going on the lam.

 

In the following days Duke doesn’t really manage to learn more about Damian despite his curiosity and best efforts.

 

Damian, to Duke’s disappointment, is quiet, and mostly keeps to himself except for his pets who follow him around like he’s Mowgli or something.

 

There’s some sort of stand-off in progress about school, and Damian is trying to outstubborn Bruce, which if you’d asked Duke a week ago he would have said was impossible. Except, he’d watched Damian stare Bruce down at the dinner table one-night when Bruce had blithely announced that he had enrolled Damian at Gotham Academy in Grade 9.  

 

Both Jason and Tim had gripped the table like they intended to either throw it as a diversion or dive under it for cover at any second.

 

Duke is convinced that neither Batman nor his son blinked for a solid ten minutes. It had been honestly the single most exciting ten minutes of complete silence that Duke had ever experienced.

 

Duke was currently enrolled at Gotham Academy in Grade 11. He thought it was a bit unfair that Damian didn’t have to go, but honestly if it had occurred to him to try and get out of it he would have. So, he supposed he couldn’t blame Damian. 

 

Duke’s first real interaction with Damian happens when he literally stumbles over Damian in one of the libraries.

 

There is more than one in Wayne Manor, because apparently when you’re as rich as god you literally do run out of things to spend your money on and have to go for repeats. One has been very categorically claimed as Jason’s Turf, and another seems to serve as Bruce’s office. This one is a small strangely shaped room in an out of the way corner of the house that Duke suspects was turned into a library because it couldn’t possibly serve any practical purpose, and a previous generation of Wayne’s had had to do something with it and just decided to shove some books in there and call it a library.

 

Damian is lying most of the way under the coffee table and is surrounded by what look like medical textbooks. He peers up at Duke with a semi-venomous look. Duke notices suddenly that the Great Dane is lying on the couch with his big head on a pillow.

 

This house is so weird. He loves it most of the time.

 

“Hi Damian.” Duke finally says after the silence has gone on long enough to be uncomfortable.

 

“Thomas.” 

 

“No, my name is Duke.”

 

“I am aware.”

  
“Then why are you calling me Thomas?”

 

“I refer to Father’s other sons as Todd and Drake respectively.” Damian points out. “I wouldn’t want to indicate favouritism by failing to use the patronym with you.”

 

Duke blinks. “Fair enough I guess.” He sits on the tiny corner of the couch not currently filled with Great Dane.“Whatcha doing?” he asks.

 

Damian viciously uncaps a highlighter. “Reading.”

 

“Those look like medical textbooks.”

 

“Good eye.”

 

“You planning on being a doctor or something?”

 

Damian looks up at him, purses his lips and then seems to seriously consider the question. “No. I do not think a vocation with such long hours and so much blood would be conducive to my health and well-being.”

 

“Oh.”  This coming from the son of a man, who as far as Duke can tell, never sleeps and considers a day where he hasn’t knocked someone’s teeth out to be a day wasted. Ironies.

 

There’s another long pause.

 

“So what are you reading?”

 

“Feel free to leave at any time Thomas.”

 

Duke ignores that and cranes his neck to read. “Growth Hormone Deficiencies?”

 

Damian snaps the books shut and glares at him over his shoulder. “Get out.”

 

Duke spreads his arms out. “Don’t wanna. It’s a free country. And I’ve lived here longer than you anyway.”

 

Damian huffs and gathers up his book clutching it to his chest. “Fine. Titus, Come.”

 

The Great Dane, Titus, Duke guesses, lifts his head but doesn’t move.

 

Damian’s face crumbles in the way little kid’s do sometimes when they’re trying not to cry. He turns on his heel and walks out. After a second Titus huffs and gets up skittering after him on the hard wood floors.

 

Duke closes one of the other books with his foot so he can see the cover. “Human Growth Hormone: Research and Applications” . That was probably not ideal. They did say this kid had what it took to be the next Lex Luthor if he wanted to.

 

That was surprisingly unhelpful though. Because on the one had this could be the genius equivalent of a bit of light reading. On the other he could be planning to bend nature to his whim and make an army of giants. This was Gotham after all, weird things happened here.

 

Duke considered that, and after a second reached down and picked up the book. He’d ask Tim. Tim was super smart and experienced enough in Damian’s homicidal fits that he’d probably be the most likely to recognize a possible danger zone.

 

#

 

The thing was Apollo had agreed to let M’s friend stay with them because he figured they were like Tony, or Jason or Marina. You know, fully functional humans with lives who just needed a place to crash and/or places to lay low after violating terms of parole.

 

The person that was currently camping out in their living room like the last days of Marlene Dietrich was none of those things.

 

Apollo crosses his arms and gives M a look.  “What is he _doing_?” he whisper hisses at his boyfriend.

 

M shrugs and takes a sip of coffee. “I dunno. Talon!” he shouts. “What are you doing!?”

 

“Drag makeup!” Talon shouts back doing something suspicious with a glue stick. “I’ve been getting a lot of requests! Apparently people think I’d be a very beautiful lady.”

 

Well, there went any of Apollo’s worries about just how M knew T. M’s taste was uncategorically butch. Good looking, but masculine. Androgyny had never been his bag. Exhibit A: Apollo who looks like a particularly tough professional wrestler (if a very handsome one).

 

He gives M a look anyway.

 

M rolls his eyes but finally moves his ass away from the kitchen island and over to their house guest.

 

“You gonna leave the apartment any time soon, buck-o?” he asks.

 

“Why do I have to leave?” Talon asks plaintively.

 

“Because you don’t live here?!”

 

“You’re the one that brought me here.”

 

“Yeah! Cause I thought you were about to lay down on the train tracks and make some poor CSI run around looking for your head!”

 

“Please, if I was planning to kill myself I’d make sure no one would find the body.”

 

“Not comforting.” Apollo chimes in.

 

Talon looks over his shoulder and frowns. “I think you’re in my shot.”

 

“It’s my house! I’ll stand wherever I want!” M shouts.

 

“Is it your house?” Talon says looking around with renewed interest. “I totally assumed you stole it from someone!”

 

“How can you steal an apartment?”   


“So many ways, M. Just, so many ways.” Talon replies distractedly as he applies a coat of foundation.

 

M looks at Apollo and throws up his hands as if to say. “I tried.”

 

Apollo takes deeps breath and walks over to sit on the floor in front of the mirror next to Talon. Side by side like this and in direct sunlight Apollo looks more inhuman than usual. The light catches the gold in his eyes, and his skin glows fainting yellow as it absorbs the sun’s energy.

 

Talon pauses and stares at him open-mouthed for just a second, before catching himself and going back to his make-up.

 

“What’s going on Talon?” Apollo asks gently.

 

“Richard.”

 

“What?”

 

“My name is Richard, people call me Dick.”

 

“Good, because you don’t seem like a Richard.”

 

Dick smiles to himself, looking pleased. “My mother used to call me Robin. I called my kid that, too. He made it his name when we ran away and got new identities.”

 

“That’s cute.”

 

“I thought so.”

 

He frowns and goes back to the make-up.

 

“Do you want us to break some heads and get your kid back?” Apollo asks. Because well, that would be the obvious reason he called Midnighter of all people when shit went down. Apollo loves M. He does. So much, but in terms of emotional intelligence and empathy the guy doesn’t have like...the greatest track record ever see: the time he broke up with Apollo for weird reasons that might have boiled down to the fact he thought their relationship was a contest he was somehow losing (?) ( Apollo’s still not clear on what that was about)

 

“No. Not if he doesn’t want to come back.”

 

“He wanted to leave?”

 

Dick shrugs. “Guess so.”

 

“Did he take your stuff?”

 

“No.”

 

“Than whyyyy don’t we help you move back to your own apartment?” Apollo whines. Sue him, he wants to be able to have sex with his boyfriend on the dining room table. It’s basically why they have a dining room in the first place.

 

“It’s...it’s too empty without him. He took his pets and he was the one paying for it so it just...it doesn’t feel like mine. I’ll pay you rent. If you like. I have a bit of money.”

 

Apollo eyes the thousands of dollars worth of make-up that Dick brought over. It’s literally an entire suitcase full of top-brand make-up. He couldn’t help but think it was probably more than, ‘a bit’.

 

Apollo mouths “What the fuck is going on?” to M, who shrugs completely unconcerned.

 

Asshole. If only he wasn’t the love of Apollo’s stupid life he’d kick his ass.

 

 

#

 

 

 

Damian has given up on hiding in the library to avoid his family. Duke Thomas it seems keeps nothing from the rest of the so called ‘Bat-family’. Within days of being discovered there by Duke every single member of the family knew to look for him there and was constantly popping by to _‘see how he was doing’_ ‘ _check up on him_ ’ and assure him ‘ _just holler if you need something_ ’

 

So, Damian was forced to relocate. His new lair was the long abandoned music room, mostly covered in dust-sheets though the baby grand piano was still impeccably tuned, Pennyworth’s doing, Damian suspected, though why he would bother when there wasn’t a single living member of the family with an interest in music and the last living Wayne to be able to tell Stravinsky from Schubert had died over twenty years ago was a mystery.

 

Sentiment, probably.

 

His old violin sat carefully propped next to a rack containing a mandolin and guitar. Damian opened the case and the smell of the resin so completely transports him back to those endless months where his father had been dead, his mother had hated him and he’d barely left the house.

 

He closes the case and sets the violin aside.

 

Still, the room was out-of the way, unused and devoid of anything that the family would consider likely to attract Damian, therefore it was the perfect place to avoid them.

 

He could even play the piano if he wanted to without giving away his position since the other boys were out all day and spent most of their time at the manor in the Batcave which was more or less completely soundproof.

 

The resonance and volume of the instrument feels wrong and unfamiliar. He doesn’t like the difference in the sound. He misses his own upright piano that Dick had bought him second hand in Wisconsin.

 

_You can buy them for nothing, since they’ve gone out of fashion. Everyone plays guitars now._

 

Damian’s hands are too small to be able to easily play Debussy’s Clair de Lune, but if he stretches he can just about manage to hit the notes. He can’t seem to get the timing right though because of it, so he switches to Fur Elise, the fingering in that song feels natural as though it’s the way a person’s hands were meant to move over a piano.

 

Dick had once said he thought Fur Elise was what piano’s would sound like if they could talk. He’s not wrong.

 

He hasn’t tried to contact Damian, which is surprising. It shouldn’t be, of course. Damian had been cruel to him lately. He’d told him not to come to Gotham and that he wasn’t welcome in the manor. No wonder he hasn’t tried to call or text.

 

It’s unreasonable for Damian to have secretly expected him to turn up anyway.

 

Dick’s been updating his Instagram more often than usual though, with more outlandish make-up than usual. So, at least Damian knows he’s still alive, and probably alright.

 

Not that Damian would find out if he weren’t alright and determined Damian not know. Grayson is surprisingly skilled and misdirection and subterfuge. Or maybe not. He had been a trained assassin who turned on his masters without them suspecting and brought them down from the inside.

 

He just played it honest most of the time. It was easy to forget what an accomplished liar he can be when he sets his mind to it.

 

Fur Elise is not a very long song. Damian plays it again, faster this time, too fast really. It sounds a bit demented sped up like that.

 

Titus lifts his head off his paws and thumps his tail against the floor once.

 

Damian stops playing and turns to look over his shoulder. His Father is standing in the doorway, smiling softly.

  
“That was my mother’s piano.” He tells Damian, and Damian immediately yanks his fingers off the keys as though he’s been burned.

 

He feels himself hunching even though he tries to stop it. “I’m sorry.” He mutters. “I thought it was just another heirloom that had accumulated over the years.”

 

Bruce moves to sit down next to him and nudges him over gently. Damian moves obediently.

 

Bruce makes a move to put his own hands on the keyboard but then stops as though surprised by his own gesture and looks at Damian. “i didn’t realize you played. When you were here before it was only the violin.” He nods at the little case that sits propped up against a dust-sheet covered arm chair.

 

Damian peeks up at him still waiting for a reprimand for sullying Martha Wayne’s memory with his bloody hands.

 

He clears his throat. “I...uh. I wanted to try something new. Do you play?”

 

Bruce looks awkward and uncomfortable and finally reaches out with his index fingers and plays a slightly off-tempo version of ‘Chopsticks’.

 

Damian stares at him. “You’re joking.”

 

Bruce smiles. “A little bit. I can play a few easy things.” He puts his hands on the piano and Damian can only stare and think that his father’s hands are large enough the stretches in Clair de Lune wouldn’t even be stretches at all.

 

His father taps out the notes to ‘Heart and Soul’, he smile tentatively at Damian who rolls his eyes but puts his hands back on the keyboard and plays the other part of the duet.

 

His father practically beams at him and Damian is so surprised he completely flubs his part.

 

Bruce stops playing. “Are you alright?” the smile is gone, he’s concerned now. Unlike the smile, that’s an expression Damian has seen all too frequently. He’s always worrying everyone around him. Even his mother back in the day was constantly fretting.

 

Damian recovers and plays the end of the song alone with his father still looking at him like he’s a kitten with a crushed paw. “Of course, Father. Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

“I knew this transition would be difficult, but I can tell you’re unhappy here. How could you not be? Rattling around all alone up here...Are you sure you won’t come down to the cave? Not to fight but just so you’re around the rest of the family. Even Alfred is down there more often than not.”

 

Damian feels a pang as he remembers all the long hours he’d spent down their during Father’s ‘death’ with the Talon. For months and months he’d spent almost every waking moment down there with Talon, Batcow, Alfred the Cat and Titus. He doesn’t want to go down there and see that those happy times might as well have never happened. Everything related to that period will have been erased. Batcow’s pattock will have been dismantled. The cell will be a stark white box again, and all the blankets, television and papers returned to their rightful place.

 

“I like it up here. The bats smell, anyways.”

 

Bruce just looks at him with sad expectant eyes, and Damian slams out a pair of loud chords and transitions into some Beethoven.

 

Father sits next to him for a moment before standing to leave. He pauses by the door. “Are you sure you won’t go to school Damian? It would give you a way to make friends. And you must be bored if you’ve started researching diseases at random to amuse yourself.”

 

“Duke repeats everything to you, I see.”

 

“We just worry Damian. We all do.”

 

“Well, there’s no need. I’m fine.”

 

“Yes. I can see that.”

 

Damian continues playing Beethoven and Father keeps standing by the door.

 

“There’s an amusement park that I used to visit with my father, when I was young. I was thinking we could go on Saturday, the whole family that is. Would you like to come?”

 

“Whatever you like, Father.”

 

“You should come. It will do you good to get out of the house.”

 

“Than I will come.”

 

 

#

 

 

The fairgrounds are on a pier near the docks. Damian spies a faded sign that reads “Haley’s Circus”, though apparently the circus has moved gone or out of business, but there are rides, and booths and people selling things.

 

Tim is on his phone the whole time and is basically being towed around by Jason who only occasionally steers him to run into things.

 

Duke is, Damian has decided, the least obnoxious and most promising of Father’s strays. Unlike the other two he seems engaged with reality as Damian has come to know it in the last three years and he understands ordinary people.   


Or something. He’s definitely better than Tim. Damian likes him, even if he’s not sure why.

 

 Maybe it’s because Duke has no experience of him as a psychopathic uncontrollable child, and so keeps treats him with something much closer to politeness than either of his other ‘brothers’.

 

Duke ambles along next to Damian and is undeterred in his attempts to make conversation. At this point Damian admires him for his persistence.

 

Bruce follows along behind the four of them, mostly chatting with Jason about whatever Jason does these days now that carnage and Batman impersonation is off the menu.

 

Damian finds himself watching his father surreptitiously. He had requested Damian attend this little outing but so far Damian was baffled as to why. Tim was completely disengaged. Jason was belligerent and clearly reluctant to be there (he had complained at length about having to cancel plans with his favourite redheads).

 

The only one not reluctant to be there was Duke, who, like Damian, had never been to the Gotham pier before. The pier is ragged and slightly rundown, no doubt due to the fact that all the flashing lights, crowds and joie de vivre made the place an all too tantalising target for the many costumed madmen who no doubt used to place as either a staging ground for atrocities or took it hostage on a semi-regular basis.

 

But, nonetheless the atmosphere was defiantly cheerful by Gotham standards and Damian found himself enjoying the sunshine and the breeze off the bay.

 

Duke was eying the balloon-pop stand with the air of a conquerer. “Think I could win this?”

 

Damian stares at it. “Pop-culture has left me with the impression that these games are rigged.”

 

“Yeah, but I’m being trained by Batman. I think I can handle it.”

 

Damian looks at the prizes and notices a cute little stuffed sloth. He points. “If you can win that I will refrain from mocking you in front of the others for a month.”

  
“To mock me in front of them you’d have to speak in front of them. No deal.”

 

“I will pay you a sincere compliment in front of my father.” Damian counter offers.

  
It takes Duke all of his darts but he manages to win the sloth.

 

He then, to Damian’s annoyance, forks over another $5 to the grifter running the game and smugly hands Damian a set of darts. “Let’s see those legendary skills, hot stuff.”

 

Damian rolls his eyes, but takes aim. Despite a number of attempts on both his and Grayson’s part to curtail the habit, he had never completely given up his training regime, though it was true projectiles have never been his forte.

 

He wins a large stuffed bear. Duke laughs and offers to carry it for him, but Damian just shakes his head and wraps his arms around it. Duke raises an eyebrow at him hugging the bear, but thankfully doesn’t comment.

 

“Impressive. I guess.”

 

Damian shrugs. “A tip from the Al Ghuls: if the game is rigged use the system to your advantage.”

 

“That’s less demented than I expected.”

 

“I live to surprise.” Damian deadpans. “The agreement still holds by the way. I will compliment you in front of Father, Todd and Drake.”

 

“It’s Drake-Wayne you know. Your dad adopted him ages ago. Before you even showed up.”

 

Damian pauses and squeezes the bear more tightly. “I know.”  He sighs.

 

They wander down one of the side alleys that features less carnival atmosphere and more of a street fair. There are food kiosks and tables selling crafts and souvenirs.

 

Damian hesitates when he notices an enamel pin in the shape of a daffodil and that stupid song immediately starts playing in his head.

 

_I’d go anywhere for your smile, anywhere! For your smiled everywhere I’d see..._

He swallows and walks away.

 

Duke tosses the sloth in the air and catches it. “Your dad sucks at bonding by the way.”

 

“We are all aware of that. Including him.”

 

“I mean, he drags us out here and where is he?”

 

“I assume making sure that Tim doesn’t walk off into the bay while texting.”

 

“Who is he even texting?! And you called him Tim! Bahahaha! You must now call me Duke!”

 

“I’m sorry is your name not Thomas?”

 

“No it’s not!”

 

“I am absolutely certain it is.”

 

“You’re such a little dickwad you know that?”

 

“Not a particularly inventive insult but I’ve been called worse.”

 

Duke slows. “Do kids pick on you? Is that why you don’t wanna go to school? Cause I will handle it. And if I can’t Jason will _definitely_ handle it.”

 

“I am not bullied. You need peers to be bullied and I am without equal.”

 

“Uh huh. Bruce said you went to school in Michigan or wherever you were. I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal about going here.”

 

“I went to _university_ in _Wisconsin_. I have no intention of retarding my education in order to appease my Father’s insane delusions about being inconspicuous.”

 

“What? You were in college and he’s trying to send you back to prep school? No wonder you’re pissed.”

 

“Indeed. He’s being intransigent. I have passed the GED and everything. Not even Jason and Tim made such a fuss.”

 

“I mean not to be blunt kid but you need friends. Like, now. Or yesterday. You’re really weird.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Like, you’re awesome. I acknowledge that, but, jeez kid. You need help.”

 

Damian walks along for a second with his head half buried in his bear before working up the courage to turn and look at the older boy. “You think I’m awesome?”

 

“Of course you are. You’re a super-genius ninja teenage billionaire. Like, how many languages to do you speak?”

 

“Ten. Mother insisted. Though I’ll lose them if I don’t practice. I’m at that age where children often lose their mother tongues.”

 

Duke whistles. “And I bet you know thirteen ways to kill me with that bear.”

 

Damians hands tighten to fists in the bears fur. “I don’t like to talk about that.”   


“Yeah. I noticed. Is it true you beheaded the Spook your first night in town?”

 

“Please don’t ask me about that.”  
  
“Sorry.”   


Damian turns to look at him. “what?”   
  
“Sorry. I was...being a dick. Your twelve, and you’ve been hiding in Wisconsin to go to university. Of course you didn’t _want_ to kill people.”   
  
Damian opens and closes his mouth. “You’re giving me the benefit of the doubt?”   
  
“I’m going on what’s in your file, kid.”

 

Damian pauses. “Would you buy something for me, if I asked?”

 

“Aren’t you a billionaire?”   
  
“Millionaire and I don’t carry cash.”

 

Duke makes a big show of groaning but turns back. He doesn’t even ask questions when Damian shyly points out the daffodil pin.

 

They meet up with the others by the roller coaster, which Father insists they ride, and which not even Drake can pretend indifference to.

 

Then Father buys them all a variety of stunningly unhealthy fairground foods which he insists are festive and Jason loudly proclaims to be the best part about Gotham.

 

They sit at a rickety plastic table and Damian eats deep fried cake batter and Todd it turns out can make Father laugh whenever he wants.

 

Damian is amazed by this ability. It seems miraculous to him. Father hardly ever even smiles for real yet somehow all Jason has to do is pretend belligerence and swear exaggeratedly while insulting various acquaintances and Father will be chuckling despite himself.

 

Tim even puts down his phone and trips Jason up so he falls off the table and spills liquid cheese sauce all over himself. Duke uses Tim’s phone to take pictures.   
  
It’s fun.

 

Damian doesn’t think the word has ever accurately applied to any experience with members of his legal-but-not-really-family. His father catches his eye across the table and grins, and Damian is so happy he thinks he might cry. Or scream. Or flip the table and run away. He steals Duke’s stuffed sloth instead and tries to make sure his smile doesn’t waver.

 

Duke must notice something. Maybe just that Damian stole the sloth, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He slings an arm around Damian and hugs him to his side. Damian freezes but eventually allows himself to react. Should Duke attempt to harm him Damian is completely capable of annihilating him. It’s nice, being hugged again, though strange to be hugged by someone who is warm, and alive. The only person who Damian has much recollection of hugging him is Dick who is notable for being neither. His mother used to hug him, but it had never been casual, there had always been the feeling of performance behind the gesture.

 

Later, as they walk back to the car Bruce falls into step next to him, hands in his pockets looking hopeful. Damian squeezes his stuffed bear even tighter, wishes briefly that Titus were with them, and then wishes even more fervently that Dick were with them hovering around in one of his absolutely ridiculous disguises.

 

“Did you have a good time?” Father asks.

 

Damian decides to surprise them both and answer truthfully. “Yes. I think...this might have been the best night I’ve ever spent in Gotham.”

 

He smiles tentatively at his Father who almost beams back at him. It’s the Brucie smile, but it seems sincere.

 

“I really glad to hear that Damian.”

 

There’s a pause as they walk in step and watch Jason pick up Duke and try to put him on his shoulders. Tim argues with them about logistics and also the integrity of Jason’s spine.

 

“Duke gave me an earful tonight you know.” Bruce mentions. “Seems to think I’m being ‘batshit unreasonable’ and that’s a direct quote about the school thing.”

 

“T-t?”

 

Bruce sighs. “Tim has said the same thing, and honestly I’m afraid to ask Jason’s opinion on it, but...I figure they’re probably right. I’ll look into you auditing some courses at Gotham U. It’s not much but it’s home, and you can always transfer somewhere better when you’re a little older and your mother has been dealt with.”

 

Damian swallows. “Is she still making threats?”

 

“Not official ones.”

 

Damian nods. “Do you have Grayson’s number? He must have replaced his phone by now. I’d like to speak to him. He’ll be happy to know I’m back in school.”

 

“Damian... I didn’t want to tell you this but...we can’t find Dick. He’s not at your apartment. As far as I can tell he hasn’t been back since the first night.”

 

“What?!” Damian asks in alarm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“His social media accounts are all still active. He’s been posting almost every day. But, he hasn’t responded to any of the boys’ requests, private messages or comments.”

 

“But you’re Batman! How can you not find him!?”

 

Bruce shrugs. “I wish I could tell you Dami. I really do. My best guess is he doesn’t want to be found.”

 

There’s a long pause as Damian tries to process that.

 

“We’re all going to go on patrol after this, do you want to come?” his father asks.

 

“No.”

 

Damian hugs his bear, and ducks his head. He walks past his squabbling older brother and stands waiting by the car. He doesn’t say a word the entire ride home.

 

Back at the manor the group separates, his brothers and his father go down to the Batcave to get ready for the night. Damian heads up to his room and locks the door.

 

He pulls out his phone and, quickly so he won’t change his mind, creates an Instagram account. The name is a random series of numbers and letters, and it takes him a surprisingly long time to find his brother’s (public) account, but when he does it’s hard to force himself to type the words:   _“It’s me. Robin. I need to see you.”_

 

There’s no response but he wears the daffodil pin on his lapel the next day anyway. No one else needs to know what it means. He just figures, wherever Dick is maybe he can see Damian, and he’ll know.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Bruce taking Damian to the pier is totally a reference to the animated movies where Bruce and Damian are staking out the pier and Bruce has a flashback to his parents taking him there. Also, in the Titans one Damian gets overcompetitive at the games booths. So. 
> 
> Also, M does have an ex-boyfriend named Jason and in the comics he does have sex with him on the dining room table on the first date. So. I'm staying true-ish to canon here. Also, I've been binge-ing RuPaul, so that's why Dick is doing drag makeup in case anyone's wondering. 
> 
> Hope you all liked it and aren't too mad that D&D are living separate lives at the moment.


	8. Step 7: Get Help When You Need It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apollo and Dick talk about life and morals. Dick makes an impulsive choice. Damian reaches out. Jason and Tim just try to deal.

Dick stares at his new phone. He has almost a dozen DMs from Stephen, not to mention comments on his posts asking him where he is and what happened. His other followers have picked up on it and also started asking questions. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say. They’re worried about him. They think something has gone wrong.

 

He groans and switches off his notifications before flopping face down onto the counter.

 

Apollo watches him intently from across the kitchen island.

 

“You need to leave the apartment eventually, you do know that right?” he calls over.

 

“Go away.”

 

“No.”

 

“This is M’s apartment! You have your own in Opal City. You don’t even live here.” Dick complains.

  
“Maybe not but my body was stored here when I was briefly dead so I really think of it as a second home.”

 

Talon raises his eyebrows at the sungod. “That supposed to impress me? I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve died.”

 

“Yes, very impressive. But, did your boyfriend fight the devil for you? No? Then shut up! Though M tells me you might not actually be fully dead, only mostly dead, which is a very different thing.”

 

Talon shrugs and makes a flippant gesture. “What does it matter?” He fold his arms and puts his head on top of them. “What’s the point?”

 

Apollo makes a face. “The point is...you have a life from what M has told me. Your kid was just part of it. It sucks. It definitely sucks. And, you know say the word and M and I will door to Gotham kick that Bat-faced prick’s ass and pull your kid out like we’re rescuing a princess from a tower. No muss no fuss, but-“

 

“But he’s his dad and he wanted to go and if you’re a good parent you respect your child’s feelings.”

 

“Well, I was going to say: ‘But then we’d have the Justice League to deal with’, but, your thing is also true. I guess. Not in my experience, and like, M doesn’t have parents in the traditional sense. But, sure. That seems like a thing hypothetical good parents might do.”

 

“Justice League, League of Assassin,...there’s too many damn Leagues.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Something occurs to Dick. “ _Could_ you fight Superman?”

 

“Anyone can fight Superman.” Apollo replies sagely.

 

“But, could you _win_?”

 

“Maybe. I was made by aliens who wanted a Superman of their own, so...probably. Pretty good odds either way. Depends on how I’m feeling.” He takes a long slurping sip of coffee as he ponders that.

 

“I’d like to see you punch them in their stupid smug faces.”

 

“Eh. You seen one haymaker you really have kind of seen them all. And M’s the one who treats killing like an art form. I’m very much a by the numbers guy. You seen M fight? It’s poetry in motion, baby.”

 

Dick sighs and looks at Apollo from across the table. His hair is yellow, his skin and eyes are golden. He looks less inhuman that Dick does without his makeup- you might not notice him across the street but up close...up close it’s obvious: he’s not right. He’s not quite human, not anymore.   


“Why do you want to punch Batman? M, I get but I hear you’re... a hero.”  Dick has to ask. Most people, as far as he can tell, love the Justice League and automatically distrust those who don’t.

 

Apollo makes a face. “You know he pretty much runs any meta out of Gotham if he can? They end up in the sewers like Killer Croc- who by the way is a pretty damn stand up guy most of the time, he’s a sponsor in AA! You know half the kids who were teens in tights end up getting their fucking lives saved by him? For Christ sakes! Batman _deserves_ to get punched.”

 

“We metas cause trouble though.” Dick mumbles into the granite counter top. 

 

“Because we have nowhere to go! No one to help us except shady motherfuckers with their own agendas. And also M.”

 

Dick grins. “I think everyone agrees M is the shadiest motherfucker to ever fuck a mother.”

 

Apollo sticks his tongue out. “Don’t be gross.”

 

Dick smiles a little. “How do you live with it? With...him and what he does?”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“I mean doesn’t it bother you? The killing?”

 

Apollo looks at him. “No, not really. I kill too, maybe without as much panache but.” He shrugs. “It’s a call I’m pretty comfortable making, when the situation seems to demand it.”

 

Dick’s face crumples.

 

“It take it you...don’t? Kill? That is.” Apollo asks gently.

 

He shakes his head and covers his face with his hands.

 

“If killing someone because they’re bad or doing bad things is okay, than the only reason I’m still alive is because I got lucky with the people I fought...anyone like you or M or a member of the Justice League, if it’s okay to kill people than it would have been okay to kill me. Because I was bad. I was terrible, I can’t remember how many people I killed or how many terrible things I did. I didn’t care. It wasn’t even that I was afraid. I was afraid to run but I never cared about the killing. Killing wasn’t anything. It didn’t bother me.”

 

“Doesn’t bother M either, that doesn’t make him a monster. Any more than you.”

 

“We are both monsters. M just choses to aim himself at people who deserve it.”

 

Apollo cocks his finger like a gun. “Exactly. M believes in a better world. That’s why he does what he does. He knows what he is, and he’s trying to use it to end people before they can do too much damage. You could do that. You said people are after your kid. You could aim yourself at them. M and I would help. Make a pile of their heads and drink wine from their skulls. The whole bit.”

 

Dick stares at Apollo in alarm. “That seems a bit extreme.”

 

“Fine, skip the skull pyramid. Just kill the sons of bitches. Or the bitches. Whichever it is.”

 

Dick sighs. “How can I? They might change. After all, I did, and if I can..anyone can.”

 

“You did.” Apollo agrees. “Most don’t. Or they change for the worst. I certainly did.”

 

Dick looks at Apollo. “What do you mean?”

 

“I’m not like you...there are some things I lived through...but I can’t go back from. I can’t be the person I was. Believe the things I used to believe.” He looks away. “Not after that.” 

 

Apollo grins a jagged painful smile. “I didn’t used to kill. I was a pacifist when I was a teenager, if you can believe that. I used to believe we could make the world a better place. I had _ideals_. But now I’m just...tired. I’m tired of the killing, but more than that I guess I’m tired of believing in people who let me down in the end.”

 

“Except M.”

 

 “M is the exception to every damn rule. He punched the Devil in the face for me. Multiple times.”

 

“You still died though. He couldn’t save you when that happened.”

 

“Yeah. He would if he could though. He’d take anything on if he thought it would spare me. Not that I would want him to, but...he’d try. I’d do the same for him...and that’s worth something. If the people who hurt me were still alive he’d kill them before they could come near me again.”

 

“Did you kill them? The people that hurt you?”

 

“No. I figured if I tracked them down and made a big to do all that would prove was how much power they had over me. How much they were in my head and always would be.” Apollo shakes his head. “I still don’t know if that’s me being weak or me being strong. I never would have let that go even a couple years ago. Sometimes I think I let that kid down, the me who was young and thought he could change the world with these powers. ”  He laces his fingers together as his hands start glowing. He stares at them in intense concentration for a moment and the fire under his skin slowly goes out.   


Dick makes a sympathetic noise. “I’m not the person I was. Or would have been. M seems to think who you are now is pretty great.”

 

Apollo makes a face. “Well, the sun does shine out my ass.”

 

Dick snickers and Apollo grins.

 

“That’s as much as i ever need to know about your sex life.”

 

“Ya sure? You’re pretty hot, you know, I don’t think either of us would object-“

 

“Ugh. Wait...you think I’m good looking?”

 

“Sure. You got a couple thousand followers on Insta telling you the same.”

  
“But..I’m not wearing make-up right now?”

 

Apollo frowns. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

 

Dick blinks.

 

 

 

 

#

 

 

Tim is lying on bed going through his (private) instagram, when a story pops up and he has to take a moment to double check that he hasn’t fallen asleep and is not in fact having a horrible horrible nightmare.

 

He is fully conscious it turns out. Alas.

 

“JASON!!”

 

He runs down the hallway, and bangs on Jason’s door. “Jason! We have a situation!!”

 

Damian pokes his head out of his bedroom two doors down and stares at him with eyes so tired they almost look bruised. “He’s not there, Drake. I think he’s downstairs.”

 

“Where downstairs, Damian?!” Tim asks in exasperation.

 

“T-t.” Damian scoffs, and shoots Tim a significant look. “You. Know. _Downstairs_.”  He then slams the door in Tim’s face. Which. Yeah. Figures. So great to have the kid home. Though Tim feels weirdly off balanced by the fact that Damian hasn’t tried to physically attack him once since he got back. Or made a rushed the door to the Batcave...or even tried to get into the batcave at all.

 

Tim paused. Damian must have at least visited the batcave right? The whole point of coming back was spending time with Bruce and if Damian hadn’t even been down there then that meant he would have barely even seen...

 

Tim rolls his eyes. Of course. Because he has to be the adult around here for some reason and tell his Dad that you know you need to leave your crime fighting vendetta for more than just an evening and spend time with your estranged biological child _regularly_.

 

Just one more thing to deal with on top of the current mess.

 

Jason, thankfully, is not in the batcave, but holed up in his library reading some sort of terribly important literature that Tim is sure he would care about a lot if he had time for that sort of thing.

  
“What is it replacement? You’ve been screeching for me all over the manor?”

 

“Then why didn’t you answer?”

 

Jason shrugs. “You’re supposed to be the World’s Second best detective. It's good practice for you.”

 

Tim grits his teeth but let’s it go and tosses his phone none too gently at Jason’s head. Jason predictably dodges.

 

“We have a situation.”

 

Jason looks at the phone he had snatched out of the air. “What.”

 

“A certain make-up blogger from Wisconsin has started doing a Q&A session in his stories.”

 

“Ok...so? I don’t think advise on foundation is going to-“

 

Tim elbows Jason in the throat (gently-ish) and grabs the phone to bring up the offending stories. The situation has clearly escalated. What started off as a few too honest for a vigilante’s comfort answers has escalated into more than a dozen some of which aren’t just tiptoe-ing around certain secrets but barrelling right into them and spewing uncomfortable truths all over the internet.

 

A pink box hovers over a shot of a make-up vanity, with the words: “Why isn’t your brother in your videos/ why don’t you talk about him anymore? Love you!”  Beneath it is a block of text. 

_So, lil-bro is really young, like still eating off the kids menu young, not that he would. So, I just don’t think it’s good for him, especially since he is so not interested, and I...kind of have lost custody of him recently. Not in a big dramatic way, it was always an informal arrangement and it’s always been about what’s best for him, but...yeah. He’s not here to talk about. Which is pretty rough honestly.”_

 

Jason taps to go to the next video.  A pink box hovers over Dick’s head with the question “Why did you start doing make-up?” The next segment is a video. 

 

_So I’ve been meaning to like, a full post about this, because I mean...I can now. I don’t have to worry about their being blow-back on my bitty bro,  But, I’m meta? I look pretty fucked up without my makeup, I’ve lied in videos and said I’m covering up scarring but what’s really happening is well-_

_He pokes a finger into his eye, pulls out a contact to reveal the yellow iris underneath and then takes a makeup wipeand pulls it down one cheek to reveal white skin intersected with dark veins-_

“SWEET JESUS!! Is he INSANE?!” Jason shouts as the video keeps playing and Dick reveals his entire real face online as he idly chats about how he got into makeup to exist in society, and how it’s only as he is more and more accepted that he realizes how marginalized he had been.

 

Tim nods frantically. “Bruce is going to lose his mind.” He whispers.

 

“Has Damian seen this?” Jason whispers back.

 

“I don’t know!”

 

“He’ll see it eventually.”

 

“Should we tell him?”  
 

“I don’t know?”

 

“Fuck.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Shit where is he?”

  
  
“Damian?”

 

“No, Dick for brains here.”

 

Tim shrugs.   


“Oh don’t give me that boy genius.”

 

“He’s mostly off the grid. Maybe somewhere in Opal City but he might just be using a router there. I don’t know.”

 

“Well, find him. I need to have a word.”

 

The next day Dick posts a full video to his mostly neglected youtube channel. Jason and Tim both arrange to be conveniently out of Bruce’s blast radius and then e-mail him the file to his Wayne Enterprises e-mail account.

 

Jason imagines they probably can seen the smoke for miles though.

 

 

#  


Damian is lying under the piano in the old music room and watching videos on his phone. Dick has started updating his youtube again, first with a drag make-up video which is strangely mesmerizing to watch while also being completly unconvincing in it’s illusion of femininity and then with a long video simply titled “FAQ”. 

 

He hesitates over it but just watches the drag make-up video for the third time in a row.

 

He had watched it earlier. Dick had taken his makeup off and told the truth about why he wore make-up in the first place. It had been wrenchingly painful and strangely uncomfortable to watch. Apparently it was a more polished version of a Q&A session he’d had on Instagram.

 

Damian is absolutely shocked by it. It’s doing on purpose something they’d been terrified would happen by accident. It’s brave and it might be stupid, but Damian doesn’t know for sure. It might be brilliant. Dick is a difficult target if thousands of people are going to notice the second he goes missing.

 

Titus barks once from where he’s sitting on the couch, and Damian turns to see a pair of shoes. He doesn’t move and turns the volume up.

 

He’s taken by surprise when someone touches him and jerks away. Dick never ever touched him if Damian had headphones on or wasn’t paying attention. Or at least he very rarely did.

 

Damian combat rolls out of there and comes up in a crouch with the piano between him and whoever it is. Based on the shoes probably Alfred or Tim. Father wore fancy shoes too when it suited him but he had very large feet which made him easily identifiable.

 

“Ahem. Master Damian I apologize for startling you.”

 

Alfred then. Damian stands up straight and looks at Alfred over the piano. “You did nothing of the kind Pennyworth.”

 

Alfred notices Titus lying on the couch, and shoots Damian a disdainful look which Damian meets head on. The music room feels more comfortable than his actual bedroom. He’s dragged all his medical books in here, plus his computer and he can play the piano. If Titus wants to lie on the couch Titus is going to lie on the couch and the butler is going to have to deal.

 

“Yes, well, I came to inform you that your Father is going to be out of town for a day or two. Your mother has led another attack presumably to get his attention. The fact that it is not in Gotham leads us to believe she is as yet still unaware of your presence here, though she must suspect it. I hope you will not do anything rash during his absence to jeapordize your own safety.”

 

“Of course not Alfred.”

 

“Very good, sir.”

 

Alfred turns to leave.   


“Oh, by the way, Pennyworth?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Who _is_ home?”

 

“Masters Jason and Duke will be taking over patrols during Master Tim and your father’s absence.”

 

“Alright, Thank you.”

  
Alfred nods. “Supper will be served at seven, do try and arrive unprompted.”

 

“Of course, Pennyworth.”

   
An idea has occured to Damian, one that goes against literally everything he just promised Pennyworth, but Father is away, Tim the most observant of the batch is with him, and Damian has several hours laid out in front of him before anyone will double check his whereabout. It presents a unique oppurtunity.

Damian feels nervous, and like maybe he can’t breathe, but Dick had been brave. Dick had faced what Damian knew was one of his greatest fears because despite what Damian was sure were incredibly high levels of emotional intelligence there was nothing that terrified his older brother more than other people and their judgement and rejection.

 

Damian needed to be brave now. He might not have the opportunity again anytime soon. Father was out of town. Duke had no authority and Jason didn’t care.

 

He goes down to the garage and stares at the keys for his Father’s cars all hanging in a neat row on labelled hooks.

 

He chooses the rolls-royce with windows tinted so dark you can’t see inside. He hasn’t driven in over two years, but he figures it’s gotham and the license plate is registered to Wayne. Even if he drives like a madman he figures the odds of any cop in Gotham being devoted enough to the law to actually pull him over are slim.

 

He makes it down to Crime Alley relatively unscathed and parks behind Dr. Thompkins clinic.

 

It’s mid-afternoon and the clinic is crowded. No one bats an eye at an unaccompanied minor. He just gets a clipboard from the nurse and begins filling out the information.

 

It’s Robin Smith’s information. He doesn’t actually know the real stuff. But, he and Dick had drilled on their new identities when they moved. It had been important not to get it wrong.

 

He checks _other_ on the list of symptoms though. He doesn’t know how to explain. It’s not obvious and it’s not an acute problem, so he expects to wait.

 

He waits for hours and it looks like he is definitely going to be breaking his promise to Pennyworth until Dr. Thompkins passes through the waiting room to talk to a nurse, does a double take when she sees him sitting and playing a game on his phone, grabs him by the arm and hauls him out of there.

 

 

#

 

Jason gets a calls from Leslie about half an hour before dinner and is honestly a little nervous answering it. Leslie usually only calls with relatively big asks.

 

_“Jason convince Bruce to up our funding!”_

_“Jason tell your guardian to stop coming here with gunshot wounds!”_

_“Jason, what can you tell me about Wayne Enterprises pollution record?”_

  
  
_“Jason, what’s this I hear about you being dead?!”_   


This time may take the cake.   
  
“JASON! What is going on there that a twelve year old had to drive himself to my clinic because he was too nervous to ask for help from anyone in that god forsaken house?!”

 

“Wait what?”

 

“Your youngest brother has bene sitting in my waiting room all afternoon. You’re lucky I needed a coffee because it might have been hours more before I got to him!”

 

“What is he doing there?!”

 

“Doctor patient confidentiality Jason! For god sake’s you should know that.”

 

“What are you calling for?”

 

“His check-up is over, I’ve given him my recommendations and I need you to drive over here and pick him up!”

 

“Is that really necessary? Rumour has it he’s a pretty good driver.”

 

“Get here. Now.”

 

She hangs up on him. Lovely woman that Thompkins. He likes to think that if he’d made better choices he might have ended up like her.

 

Damian is sitting in the nurse’s station looking pretty hang-dog by the time Jason rolls up.

 

The kid is such a mystery to him it’s sickening. He loves him. Viscerally and fiercely. He’ll gut Bruce if he thinks the psycho is gonna let Damain out onto the streets and undo all the hard work Tim, Dick and Jason have all put in respectively to try and undo some of the damage that Talia wreaked on this kid.

 

But, Damian is a lot like his dad. It’s hard sometimes, loving him, you don’t always get much in return except cool politeness or barbed disdain. Dick gets more, Jason knows that. Dick ducked past the defences by being barely human (and therefore preferable) and mostly helpless at the time he'd met Damian.

 

Damian is a sucker for creatures with broken wings and sad eyes.  Jason gets it, he does. He remembers being like that back before the Joker, the Pit and Talia had fucked him up, in that order.

 

He raises his eyebrows at Damian and the kid gets up. He looks real tiny with his hung head and his defeated expression. Jason herds him out the door and towards the Rolls that by some miracle only has a crack in one of the passenger side back windows after spending an afternoon in Leslie’s parking lot.

 

Back when Jason went to this clinic someone would have at least stolen the hubcaps. Back when Jason went to this clinic, _he_ would have stolen the hubcaps.

 

He let’s the kid have his silence for all of about 30 seconds before he starts. If it were Tim or Bruce than they’d let the poor little guy stew a bit longer, but Jason’s never had much patience more anything except plotting horrible bloody murder, and Dick Grayson, _you know the one who actually knows what to do and how to handle this fucking kid, has decided to have a goddamn break-down and go AWOL because Bruce is moron_ , so...30 seconds is as good as it is going to get.

 

“You wanna tell me what that was about?”

 

“T-t. No.” Damian scoffs.

 

Jason laughs. “Well, you’re gonna have to because, the second Bruce gets back and finds out you went to the clinic without bleeding profusely those records are getting hacked and if he can’t hack the records he will use interrogation techniques until you break, and all of that will be so much easier if someone already knows and can help you with his bullshit.”

 

Jason takes his eyes off the road and pokes Damian is the shoulder. “Spill. Now.”

 

Damian just hangs his head and continues looking miserable.

 

Jason takes a long deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. “Look, I know you have this idea that we’re all...your enemies or your competition, or whatever, and I know because I know your mom that that is because probably everyone around you when you were little tried to kill you at least once, but...it’s been a few years now. Have any of us every actually tried to hurt you?”

 

“...No.”

 

“That’s because we’re on your side.” Jason huffs and tightens his grip on the wheel. “Tim, and I: _we are on your side_. We will fight your corner if you’ll let us. And if that means that I need to run interference with Bruce while you sort this out then I will do that. Just like I ran interference when I found out you were in Wisconsin. But I can’t run interference if I don’t know what’s going on.”

 

That get’s Damian’s attention. “You knew where we were?”

 

Jason rolls his eyes. “I mean not right away, you hid well, but you have a kryptonite like everyone else, that kryptonite is your adorable pooch and yeah...we found you months before Bruce came down on you like a ton of bricks, and if Tim wasn’t so goddamn weak where Bruce is concerned we could have kept him from coming down on you like that.”

 

“Wh-why would you do that?”

 

“Because that house was killing you. We both saw it. Talon was like, the only reason you got out of bed in the morning. You took your stupid GED so we couldn’t make you go to school, and we knew that if you stayed the only out you’d ever have would be capes and masks and vigilante bullshit, and you...with you it wouldn’t be a choice. It would be the only option. Not like with us. We had a choice and we might bitch and moan and pretend we didn’t but _we did_. We put the stupid tights on of our own goddamn volition. You, you were born in the stupid things and it’s not...it’s not fair. Okay? We _knew_ that. You know that. Rick Grayson sure as fuck knows it wherever he’s fucked off to these days.”

 

Damian just stares at him open mouthed. He opens and closes it a couple times but nothing comes out.

 

Jason meets Damian’s stunned gaze, and it’s... it’s just another sign of how fucked up their family is that the kid had had no clue about any of this. Tim was an inscrutable bastard on his best day, but Jason liked to think he’d avoided the Bat curse of locking all your feelings in a tasteful antique box and then accidentally misplacing it in your stupid giant mansion.

 

Jason sighs. “You know, I get it. More than maybe anyone else could. I know your dad. I was his first kid. He’s my dad too, in all the ways that matter. And I know your mom. She looked after me after Joker killed me. Patched me up, gave me some training and sent me home. I know what she’s like. So, I’m not saying trust me. Because I know you don’t and you maybe never will, but.. _.believe me_. I’ll help you with this okay. Just tell me.”

 

“I’m not what you think I am.”  


“Okay. How?”

 

“I...Mother didn’t...have me...”

 

“Alright, can you explain that?”

 

“I was grown in an artificial womb. I didn’t get born, I got _decanted_. I...don’t know how...real I am. I might be more of a clone of Father than a real child of his.”

 

“Ok. What does that have to do with needing a doctor?”

 

“I’m not growing.”

 

That sends a shiver up Jason’s spine. “Like, at all?”

 

Damian shakes his head. “I’ve checked against the clothing I have here. I haven’t grown since Mother left me here.”

 

“Since she left you here two and a half years ago.”

 

Damian nods.

 

“Fuck.”

 

“Please don’t tell Father.” Damian begs and Jason has never heard the kid beg before. He’s barely even heard him ask for something he needs.

 

“I’m gonna have to tell him something, kid. You can’t hide this completely. He’d understand you know?”

 

“No. He wouldn’t. He said my brother isn’t real. And if he’s not real then-”

 

“What? You mean Heretic?”

 

Damian nods again. “He’s me you know. My clone, that’s what Mother said.”

  
  
“Your mother talks a lot of shit.”

 

“I know that.”

 

“Fuck that god damned bitch. What did Thompkins say about this?”

 

Damian looks so tiny hunched in the huge plush rolls seat. “She needs to do more tests. She took a bit of blood but she won’t be able to find out too much from it. I’ll probably have to do a brain scan.”

 

“I’m gonna kill your mom.”

 

“It might not even be her fault these things just happen.”

 

Jason takes a deep breath through his nose. “Not with Talia they don’t.” He glances at the tiny figure of abject misery. “I’ll have a word with Bruce about Heretic. That it’s not fucking cool to just dismiss another human being like that. Especially one who doesn’t have a choice.”

 

Damian nods jerkily. Jason reaches over and puts a hand on his shoulder. He gives it a firm squeeze. “It will be okay. I promise.”

 

“People never keep their promises.” Damian mutters.   


Jason swallows. “I do. I swear.:

 

Damian looks out the window. “Sure.” He murmurs softly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... somehow this section with Dick and Damian living apart got way longer than I meant for it to be. I blame Apollo. He and Dick just want to chitty chat for pages and pages. IMPORTANT PLOT STUFF WILL HAPPEN SOON. I swear. 
> 
> But...we are inching closer to a conclusion I swear...though the chapter count will probably be going up again before this is all over. Sorry 'bout that. 
> 
> Comments as always are very welcome.


	9. Step 8: Try and Be Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick struggles to adjust to adjust to his new life. Bruce decides he's going to fix this.

Dick has to go home eventually, and Apollo for all his bitching and whining actually seems sad to see him go. He walks him home once M has opened a door to Wisconsin. M is busy today, something about his friend Marina and an event she’s planning.

 

“She’s a break-up friend.” Apollo had explained in the over confident tone Dick has learned he uses when he’s covering up how he really feels. “M put together this whole support system while we were broken up. He made all these friends and it’s good. It’s really good. But, I don’t know them, not like he does.”

 

Which Dick guesses is a roundabout explanation of why Apollo sort of followed him home despite having been begging him to leave for two whole weeks.

 

The doorman looks relieved to see Dick. Probably figured they’d been murdered or something when they up and disappeared like that.

 

The apartment is a mess. They’d half-way trashed it getting their stuff together to run, and then Damian had finished the job when he’d thrown together his more mundane belongings to take with him to Gotham.

  
There’s still a duffle bag of weapons sitting open on the floor next to the couch, and the fried electronics are still in the microwave.

 

“Jeez, what happened? I thought you said there wasn’t a struggle.” Apollo mutters.

 

Dick shrugs and wheels his suitcase back in. There’s still a knife in his bedroom door.

 

The place smells musty and empty.

 

Apollo wanders into Damian’s room and it’s habit that sends Dick’s heart up into his throat. That’s Damian’s room! He doesn’t like people in there! Except it’s not anymore, so why would he care?

 

Dick hovers in the doorway as Apollo picks something up off the desk with a laugh. “Where did he even get this?”

 

Dick frowns and steps forward. It’s Damian’s ipod, the one with all his music and books on tape which help him sleep. He must have forgotten it in all the hubbub. He glances around. Given that Damian hadn’t had to ditch most of his belongings to drop everything and start again somewhere else, there’s way too much stuff still in this room.

 

Dick frowns and starts wandering around the room picking things up and tossing them into a hamper. Apollo watches him with an amused expression, head cocked to one side.

 

“That’s an...interesting collection there.”

 

Dick stops and looks down at what he’s collected. Damian’s ipod, his spiderman sweater, his favourite blanket- the fleece one with the wolf, his book on turn of the century scientific illustration, the book of Arabic poetry Dick had bought him for his birthday, the weight set Damian uses for exercise that he’d thought Dick didn’t know about, an extra phone charger, Titus’ sweater for when it gets cold and he get shivery, Alfred’s favourite toy with the feather on it, Damian’s socks, his mittens and his winter coat.

 

“He’ll need these.” Is all Dick can say, lamely. “He left in a hurry and he must have forgotten...” Dick swallows. “He doesn’t sleep well without his ipod.”  
  
He blinks furiously. Who plays Damian Debussy to wake him up now? There’s no way Damian would ever ask. Maybe he set it as the alarm on his phone. Dick hopes he did. He doesn’t like to think of him waking up to a knock on his door which almost always startled him.

 

Does someone make him a smoothie every few days even though he hates them? What about his school work!? He’ll have missed so many classes.  
  
Dick wanders around and collects all of Damian’s schoolwork. The coursepacks, handwritten notes, and textbooks make a pretty sizeable pile and probably are crushing some of the stuff underneath. The laundry hamper is heavy enough that Dick is pushing it around the room with his foot instead of trying to carry it.

 

Apollo is apparently interested enough in this that he’s forgotten himself for a moment and is floating gently about two inches off the ground. He hasn’t noticed yet and Dick doesn’t have the heart to point it out. He’s thankful for the silence right now. M would never be able to keep him company like this without running his mouth.

 

Dick wanders into his room and starts collecting his own necessities in his own hamper before he catches himself and stops, frozen in the centre of his room, staring at a pile of things that don’t actually need to go anywhere. He dumps it out onto his bed with a snarl of frustration, before flopping down onto the pile face first.

 

Apollo floats in and sits next to him. He tosses some mail at him. “You forgot to check your box.”

 

Dick sighs and flips though the envelopes. It’s mostly junk-mail, though there’s an ominous looking envelope with an official looking seal. He tosses the pile in the general direction of his bed side table. “What did you do when M left you?” he asks.

 

“Listened to Hotel California on repeat, cursed his name and trusted that even if we were never together-together again, we’d see each other at least occasionally.”

 

Dick covers his face. “I don’t know what to do.”

 

Apollo chucks his phone at Dick’s head none too gently. “Answer your god damn messages. I know you have friends who have been worried. Jesus. You have a life! There are a dozen things you could be doing right now to make yourself and other people in the world feel better, but here you are with all your charm, abilities and talent, sitting on the floor moping. So just...do. _something_... ** _anything_**.”

 

Dick thinks about it.

 

“Hey...can I do your makeup?” Dick asks.  


“I don’t wear make-up?”

 

“But you _could_. And I could put the video on my youtuble channel!” Dick sits up. “C’mon say yes!”

 

“You can put makeup on me! But you cannot film it!”

 

“DEAL!”

 

 

 

 

 

Bruce knows he’s not good with people. Without a script to work from or a shared burning obsession (usually justice but occasionally charity work), he doesn’t know how to interact with other humans. Actually, his stablest relationship is with a colleague who isn’t even human. That’s depressing to think about.

 

But the thing is he’s always sort of hoped he was a net positive in people’s lives. Specifically his kids. He knows he’s difficult, unable to process most emotions and more or less unable to do anything at all normally ever. But he’d always believed his kids weren’t normal and didn’t need normal and more than that didn’t even _want_ it.

  
It had been a blow to realize that Jason, and Tim view him as a problem they must collectively manage with Alfred's. Not that he had been completely oblivious. His sidekicks have always helped to steer him away from the edge of darkness. He just hadn’t realized how much damage control they did for Bruce as well as Batman.

 

But now _...Damian._ Everyone seems to agree that Damian needs protecting from him. Damian is scared of him. So scared he hadn’t breathed a word to anyone about being sick and had driven into town alone and made sure Leslie hadn’t told anyone what they had discussed during his check-up.

 

Jason is right, of course. Bruce _is_ a problem when it comes to Damian despite his best efforts. Jason had had to plant himself in a doorway and refuse to budge, as well as call in reinforcements in the form of Tim to calm Bruce down once he’d very gradually broken the news that Damian might be sick and more importantly that Damian had been too afraid to tell anyone.

 

Tim had talked him through a lot of breathing exercises and Alfred had made him some brownies. As though Bruce is the person who should be getting coddled in this situation, because god knew where Damian had run off to while everyone was handling Bruce.

  
It’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. All he’s ever wanted is for his kids’ to be okay. That includes Damian.

 

He believes he has been a positive force in the lives of Jason, Tim and Duke, but maybe Dick Grayson is right. Maybe Damian is better off without him.

 

 

 

It’s a sometime after that particular meltdown that Bruce goes looking for Damian and finds him scowling over a children’s picture book.

 

“This book is sickening. No one should love another so completely.” Damian snarls turning the pages in disgust.

 

Bruce recognizes the red and green cover of the Giving Tree and isn’t sure whether or not he agrees. He’s more curious about where Damian found the book, but knows he’s unlikely to get a straight answer. Damian spends a considerable amount of his spare time worming his way into rooms that have been shut for years, and prying open storage spaces for no other reason than idle curiosity and boredom. Most likely it was a copy that had once belonged to Bruce and which Damian had found in boxed up somewhere.

 

There used to be another boy who haunted these empty rooms all alone. He’d set his jaw in exactly the same way Damian does and he’d try and batter down all the things that were unfair and uncontrollable. He’d stand there with his hand in the candle flame and make himself learn not to mind the pain.

 

Damian reminds Bruce of that boy. There’s something stomach churning in the recollection of his younger self which he hasn’t contemplated in years. The memory of such terrible _needless_ loneliness shouldn’t still sting but it does.

 

His son’s loneliness is even worse, and even more unecessary.

 

He sits down next to him on the floor. “You might be right, but there are people who just...give. And there are selfish people too.” 

 

Damian looks up at him sharply. He’s been avoiding Bruce. They both know it. Jason has run interference and Bruce has let him.

 

Bruce is so tired of doing things wrong when it comes to Damian. He’s tired of not being enough, and not knowing what to do or how to help. He’s tired of being just another person in the world that Damian needs to be protected from.

 

“I think it’s time Richard came for a visit.” Bruce suggests tentatively. “You obviously don’t trust us with your medical concerns but I don’t like the idea of you handling all this alone.”

 

Damian curls in on himself and Bruce just wants to pull him closer and hold on to him the way he used to with Jason when he was small. He doesn’t move though. Damian historically has responded to unexpected physical contact by non-lethally stabbing the perpetrator. Usually in the arm. That’s where all this trouble started.

 

“He’s not answering.” Damian mutters. “We destroyed our phones when we planned to evade your capture. Instagram is proving unreliable...I don’t know if he is even in Madison anymore.”

 

“Ah.” Bruce nods, understanding immediately what the problem was. Damian thought he was not being ignored and was too proud to grovel for the attention of someone who refused to respond. “I’ll look into it.”

 

Damian turns the page of the book and glares at the boy in the boat. “I do not believe that will be necessary. Nor do I believe it would produce the intended results.”

 

Bruce huffs. Richard Grayson’s pathological dislike of superheroes was incredibly tiresome, not to mention inconveniant. 

 

He wants to ask Damian about Leslie but, if it really is just a run of the mill everyday thing, a cold or a pulled muscle or even just Damian exerting independence by maintaining control over his own body, than Bruce doesn’t want to become completely overbearing. Jason had talked circles round him as usual, and now Bruce has no idea what the correct move forward even is. 

 

He tentatively reaches out and puts an arm around Damian’s shoulders. Damian stares at it like it’s a boa constrictor but Bruce has committed now so he refuses to withdraw it.

 

“It’s worth a try.” Bruce suggests hopefully.

 

Damian looks at him with incredible scepticism. If there’s one thing that divides the two of them it is that Bruce is never afraid of looking idiotic by failing at something. Jason had once suggested that Bruce might be psychologically immune to embarrassment. Bruce learns from failure, Damian flees from it.

 

“I’ve been thinking about school, for you. I have a meeting with the Dean of Gotham University later today, it’s about you but you don’t have to come. But, if you do we could tour the grounds and you could provide more specific information on the courses you’d like to take.”

 

“T-t. I can only shudder at the calibre of professors a Gotham institute of higher learning would attract.”

 

That startles a laugh out of Bruce and Damian looks shocked but pleased at the noise. Bruce tries not feel too proud of doing something that makes Damian happy.

 

“It’s not what you’re used to. I admit that, but the campus is beautiful and you’d be able to get have some sort of mental and social stimulation. I worry about you rattling around up here by yourself.”

 

Damian considers this. “I require no coddling Father.”

 

“That is not what I’m suggesting.”

 

“I will withdraw immediately should a psychotic in a costume take me hostage.”

 

“That’s likely to be a very short academic career.” Bruce points out.

 

Damian shrugs. “I am very short.”

 

That makes Bruce chuckle again and Damian almost preens, he’s so obviously pleased with himself.

 

“Why don’t we head out now?’ Bruce asks, trying not to sound too eager. “We could grab some food at a place I used to take Jason when he was young.” Before he died and came back angry. The first and greatest of Bruce’s many failures.

 

“I...I think I would like that. Very much.”  Damian replies with a hopeful smile.

 

As they walk to the diner from the car Damian, without seeming to think about it, slips his hand into Bruce’s. It’s such a surprise to Bruce to have Damian initiate contact of any kind that he holds his breath. Damian stiffens once he realizes what he’s done and pulls away. Bruce, remembering a different boy who’d lived in Wayne manor, one who’d been foul-mouthed and stubborn and who’d never asked for affection but had needed it so badly, reaches out and loops an arm around his youngest son and hugs him to his side.

 

Damian leans against him and they walk into the diner.

 

They eat milkshakes and veggie burgers and Damian talks at length about food production, and meat eating and the few rare instances of independently developed agriculture in the ancient world, and shouts about how corn is basically a genetic miracle whose development is not treated with due reverence.

 

He’s so impassioned in his food-based soliloquy that he’s completely failed to notice that everyone in the restaurant is staring at them. Whether because it’s Bruce Wayne and yet another kid, or because said kid is almost standing on his seat shouting about sustainable farming practices is anyone’s guess.

 

Bruce is honestly delighted. He’s never thought about food or farming at all before, other than as a slightly archaic way of life that Clark practices out of stubborn contrariness. This is fascinating.

 

Who knew that all it would take to finally bring Damian out of his shell was the simple question “Do you want a beef, chicken or mushroom patty on that burger?”

 

Maybe, everything really will be okay.

 

 

 

 

It’s easier than Dick expects to slide into his old life. He still feels off balance, and incomplete, but there’s nothing to prevent him from doing most of what he used to do. He’d thought losing Damian would be like losing a limb, but apparently it’s more like losing a toe. He feels the absence but no one else notices anything wrong.

 

Everyone asks where his brother is though.

 

The girl at the coffee shop, the dog walking group at the park, the doorman, his yoga instructor, Stephen and the man at the convenience store down the street.

 

Lying on the floor of M’s apartment seems like a better and better idea as with each day it became more and more obvious how much of Dick’s day to day life had revolved around Damian.

 

Not that he hadn’t known it’s just...somehow more than he’d realized. He had a day/night schedule despite not needing to sleep because it was better for Damian. He knew how to cook despite not eating so that he could cook for Damian. He went to a specific yoga studio because it was near Damian’s school. He was friends with the people he was friends with because he had met them through activities he did with Damian.

 

It wasn’t that he no longer could do these activities it was just that without Damian as the lynchpins many of them seemed futile and...silly.

 

He could still go to the park but he’d always gone to the park with Damian to walk Titus. He could still go to coffee shops and do his learning booklets but he only spent so much time in coffee shops because he was waiting for Damian to get out of class.

 

Even dancing around the apartment to old movie musicals just wasn’t the same without Damian to laugh at him.

 

It felt like the only things that were left were make-up, parkour and his support group for survivors of supervillain violence.

 

That was the highlight of his week. Diane, a lovely elderly lady who had been taken hostage by the Riddler in one of his more elaborate schemes, has squeezed his hand and said “Welcome back love!”

 

Almost everyone had commented on how they’d missed him at the last few meetings and been worried about him. It had felt so incredibly precious to have his absence noticed, and to be worthy of worry. He doesn’t know when someone would have felt that way about him and really meant it.

 

It doesn’t change that the meeting is only once a week, and the rest of his life feels untethered. Apollo visits, and M comes by and drags him back to hang out with them on the semi-regular. It’s nice, though Dick suspects there’s a stronger element of duty than affection in these little get togethers. He doesn’t mind. They’re trying to help. Though to his surprise it’s Apollo much more than Midnighter who seems to understand what Dick is going through.

 

“It’s easier being the one leaving, than the one left behind.” Apollo had mused one day as they’d hung around in a windowless room of M’s apartment that’s full of plants. Apollo was venting his excess solar energy in the form of light, apparently a necessity if he was going to sleep, and also a preventative measure that kept him from accidentally setting things on fire if his attention slipped and he lost the iron grip he usually maintains on his powers.  “M’s probably told you to pick yourself up and dust yourself off a dozen times, but sometimes...” He’d smiled as the sunflowers had turned towards him. “Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do to make it through the next day.”

 

He’d smiled at Dick and Dick had grinned back, and it was...it was probably the first friend he’d made where what they had in common didn’t have anything to do with heroics or monsters or torture.

 

He and Apollo just understood each other. It was nice, but it made him miss Damian and it made those long lonely hours by himself stretch all the longer.

 

He did a lot of late night wandering. He texted Stephen a lot but dodged meeting up with him.  There were too many lies he’d either have to tell or have to admit to if they talked face to face.

 

One night he gets home and is surprised to find the lights on and a familiar shape standing in the living room looking at the hamper full of Damian’s belonging’s that has sat in the livingroom since Dick came home to Wisconsin.

 

He’s holding Damian’s fleece blanket with the wolf face on it.  
  
Dick shifts and lets his hands linger on his knives but he doesn’t move to attack. Somehow this moment has always been inevitable.

 

Bruce Wayne turns and Dick raises one eyebrow as a challenge. The eyebrow in question has recently been dyed navy blue, and he likes to think that little indignity makes the challenge all that more effective.

 

“How did you get in here?” he asks.

 

“Very carefully.”

 

“Why are you here?”

 

“I think it’s time you stopped whatever ridiculous game the pair of you are playing and come to Gotham.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for going AWOL there...and that this is kind of short. Writing this chapter was like pulling teeth. I just wanted to write long scenes of Apollo and Dick hanging out but that doesn't advance the plot so...yeah. 
> 
> Anyway, I make no promises for when the next update will materialise I've been having trouble finding time for writing lately. I hope you all enjoyed it and are happy with the direction this story is going. There's probably going to be at least a couple more chapters? 
> 
> Next Chapter: THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR!! (Though nothing can ever be simple with these boys can it?)


	10. Step 9: Reconcile When You Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick visits Damian and tries to put his life back together.

 

_Bruce Wayne turns and Dick raises one eyebrow as a challenge. The eyebrow in question has recently been dyed navy blue, and he likes to think that little indignity makes the challenge all that more effective._

_“How did you get in here?” he asks._

_“Very carefully.”_

_“Why are you here?”_

_“I think it’s time you stopped whatever ridiculous game the pair of you are playing and come to Gotham.”_

  

Dick just stares at 

 

Bruce in complete silence. After a moment Bruce deflates a bit and sighs.  “Do you mind if I sit here?” he asks nodding towards the couch.

 

Dick considers bolting out of there, but Bruce has Damian and Dick would like to know how he is.

 

“Bruce.”

 

Bruce looks him over. “Richard.”

 

“What brings you here?”  


Bruce sighs, and slumps forward which is shocking enough that Dick jerks back from him instinctively.

 

“Damian isn’t....he’s not. He’s not happy in Gotham.”

 

Dick sighs. It’s not a surprise but he’d been holding on to the hope that all this had been worth it if Damian was happy somewhere.

 

“I think it would be very good for both of you if you were to come to Gotham to visit him.”

 

Dick purses his lips. “I can’t go to Gotham. The court is there and Damian told me not bother him. I’m respecting his boundaries.”

 

Bruce does not look impressed by this line of reasoning. He takes a deep breath “Be that as it may... I really think you need to be there. Just for a visit if nothing else.”

 

 

 

 

 

Damian had not anticipated how vulnerable the trappings of an MRI would make him. The flimsy paper gown does almost nothing to alleviate his feelings of nakedness, and leaves his back exposed which, even more embarrassingly causes him to unconsciously turn to check his blind spot constantly. He suspects that if he didn’t look so small and pathetic the nurses would be laughing at him.

 

As things stand they’d taken one look at the marks from his training and their eyes had gone soft and their voices gentle.

 

He thinks he would prefer that they laugh at him. It is equally embarrassing but far more deserved since he knows that he resembles a dog chasing his tail the way he’s constantly spinning trying to watch his own back.

 

To compound the issue his training has deserted him just when he needs it the most. There’s something about the closeness of the machine, the noise, his own vulnerability and the knowledge that just out of sight he is being watched that makes him completely unable to control his terror.

 

He keeps moving, and then they have to start over and he wishes that Father had come back with news about Grayson, he wishes that he had swallowed his pride and let Father see him like this. As it is he only allowed Jason to accompany him, privy as he was already privy to all of Damian’s worst secrets.

 

He’s ruined yet another scan and is sitting on the shelf gasping for breath and trying to understand his own terror when there’s a knock on the door and

 

Grayson is there. He looks uncomfortable and sheepish but he’s _here_. He’s not captured by the Court of Owls or Talia. He’s not ignoring Damian- he’s in front of him.

 

Damian lurches to his feet and slams into Dick, who pulls him close, and it’s the familiar slightly cool touch and silent chest and it’s nothing like Father’s embrace but everything like safety.

 

“I’m sorry.” Damian mumbles pressing his face into the front of Dick’s sweater. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I tried to take it back but you didn’t answer. I wore a daffodil just in case you were watching so that you would see and understand and-”

 

He steps back and finally Damian finds the words that he really needs to say. “I messaged you! Why didn’t you write back?”

 

Richard gapes in surprise. “What?”

 

“I wrote you on Instagram and-“

 

“You don’t have instagram! You called it a distraction for the weak minded-“

 

“I made one to try and talk to you and you never-“  Damian lurches forward and it feels so natural when Richard catches him and tucks him close.

  
Dick kneels down in front of him and smoothes the hair away from his face. “I’m sorry, too. I made that big video and then I had so many messages and a lot of them weren’t very nice, so I didn’t even see that you’d tried to tell me to come and get you not until Bruce told me that you needed me.”

 

“Father really found you? And brought you here?”  


Dick nods. “He’s a lot like you ya know. Doesn’t really understand people.”  


Damian shakes his head. “He’s nothing like me.”

 

“I don’t know about that little bird.” Dick glances around the room at the machines and the nurses and Damian’s paper robe. “What’s all this about then?”

 

Damian takes a long shuddering breath. “They’re checking to make sure there’s nothing wrong with me. But I can’t...” he glances over his shoulder at the machine. “I can’t stand that thing.”

 

“It’s okay Damian. I’ll sit with you, while they take your picture.”

 

“They’re not taking a picture Richard!”

 

Dick waves it off. “Nuance.”

 

“And no one’s allowed to stay in here while it’s on. It uses radiation and it can be dangerous.”

 

Dick rolls his eyes. “I’ve been dead for years, what’s it gonna do? _Kill me?_ ”  


This isn’t a hospital not really, but a private medical facility owned and operated by Wayne Enterprises and specialising in medical research into meta-human phenomenon.

 

They agree to let Dick stay in the room.

 

He spends the better part of an hour holding Damian’s feet as the magnet thumps and whirs and Damian tries not to flinch (he does flinch a couple times, but Dick just rubs his ankles and tells him not to worry it doesn’t matter if they need to start over).

 

When they get home Titus nearly knocks Dick over he is so over excited to see him, and they have to remove themselves to the backyard or risk thousands of dollars worth of antiques to his rambunctiousness.

 

Dick runs around in circles yelling at the top of his lungs at once chasing and being chased by Damian and Titus. They don’t talk about the scans or the results.  


Dick convinces him to climb a tree and hangs upside down from a branch above him. He’s wearing his makeup differently.

 

It’s no long soft shades of peaches and pastels. The highlighter shines iridescent, his eyebrows are dyed navy blue and he’s contoured his face in a way that makes his features look sharper and fiercer.

 

“I made a friend.” He tells Damian seriously, still hanging upside down. “His name is Andrew, but he goes by Apollo. I’ve never met anyone like him before, he’s a sungod. Only not really a god, but close. Apparently he could fight superman and win, though no one’s tested the theory.”

 

Damian nods and swings his legs and looks down at where Titus is whining at the bottom of the tree.

 

“He going to let me do his makeup.” Dick continues after a pause. “Though I haven’t convinced him to be on my channel yet.”

 

“It’s doing well isn’t it? Your makeup tutorials.”

 

Dick shrugs upside-down.

 

“How are you? Bruce said you were sad.”

 

“I’m fine. I was lonely.” Damian replies, putting on a brave face, and unwilling to admit he may have miscalculated in coming back to Gotham.  “But it’s not so bad here. Thomas is alright and Todd has sworn he’ll be my ally which only leaves Drake who I believe is keeping his distance more out of a sense of caution since i did try and kill him once or twice than because of any lingering malice.”

 

Dick smiles wide and forcefully. “That’s good!”

 

Damian shrugs. “Father is sending me to university here.”

 

“Good. I’d hate to think you were wasting all your potential.”

 

“I doubt I’ll learn much other than how to behave appropriately when taken hostage by delusional maniacs.”

 

“Well, life skills.” Dick replies with a shrug.

 

There’s a long pause.

 

“You’re not going to stay long are you?” Damian finally asks.

 

Dick sighs. “It’s not safe for me to stay in Gotham. I doubt the Court is really gone for good, whatever your Father says. “

 

“So? You could stay here and be safe. No one bothers the Waynes. We run this town.”

 

Dick smiles apologetically. “I just don’t think that’s the right choice. I don’t feel safe in the manor, and I don’t think your family would feel safe if I was in the manor. I’ll come and visit whenever you want. I just...your whole point was that my life is in Wisconsin and that’s still true.”

 

“You’re gonna leave me here?!”

 

Dick just looks at Damian. “You need Doctors you can trust, Robin. The ones here, who your Father has vetted and employs are as close as you’re gonna get, and we both know that.”

 

Damian scowls. “We don’t know for sure that there’s even really anything wrong with me!”

 

“Damian. Your Mother will try and kidnap you if you leave. Or kill you and neither of us know which of those options is worse. You’re not safe without your Father’s protection, as much as I hate to admit it. Unless we disappear and he’d never let that happen.”

 

Damian’s face contorts and he clenches his fists as he struggles not to cry. “It’s not fair! No one else’s parents do this! I just want...” he gasps and shudders as he refuses to cry. “I just want to be normal! I’m tired of being the freak who was grown in a tank. I don’t want to be like this anymore!”

 

“Damian, I’m going to tell you some very wise words my friend Midnighter told me: ‘Normal people are an urban legend. We’ve all heard of them but no one has actually met one.”

 

Damian scoffs. “That’s stupid and ridiculous. What is normal but a vernacular term for the mathematical average?”

 

“I suppose it depends on your definition.” Dick concedes.

 

Damian scowls and starts climbing down.

 

“Damian.” Dick calls after him. “Hey, Damian!”

 

He leaps off the tree, lands hard, feels his ankles snap, takes a second for them to heal, and then takes off running after Damian.

 

“C’mon! It’s not like I’m abandoning you! You’re the one that left!”

 

Damian won’t meet his eyes. “I understand completely Richard. You have no choice.”

 

“Damian, that’s not what I-”

 

“Let’s not ruin your visit. I’m sure Alfred will have prepared some sort of dinner which you will be expected to attend.”

 

Dick frowns. “With the whole family?”

 

“That is usually the case. We have some time before then, though, I suggest we don’t waste it dwelling on circumstances that can’t be changed. There is a large home theatre system that is very rarely used. I think you’ll enjoy it. Come along, I’ll show it to you.”

 

 

 

 

Duke may have been disappointed by his first encounter with the legendary Damian Wayne, but Richard Grayson more than outshone the reputation that had preceded _him_.

 

Duke can safely say he’s never met anyone who has ever come close to being like Richard Grayson who moves like a cross between a bird and a jungle cat, is vivacious like some turn of the century socialite and looks like the more daring sort of Instagram style influencer.

 

It’s quite the combination to be sitting across from, honestly. Duke keeps having to remember to chew his food.

 

Tim seems completely unconcerned and barely aware that there’s someone else at the table. Bruce is on his best, most politely prickly behaviour. Damian is clearly seething about something and is attacking is food with unnecessary vigour, while Jason does his usual routine of ignoring any and all emotional tension and plowing on with whatever it is he wants to do.

 

In this case it seems to be ‘Chat up Dick Grayson about the meta’s he met recently”

 

Duke’s not sure what is going on and is going to have to have carefully poke and prod Damian and Jason into revealing whatever emotionally rich backstory is currently at play. The family is usually happy to share Batman related information, and he knows all about Tim and Jason, but there’s some sort of unspoken rule about never blabbling about Damian and Richard. 

Duke suspects it’s because Damian has made it very clear that if he catches his brother’s gossiping retribution will be swift and decisive.

That seems much more likely than anyone in the Wayne family having some sort of respect for the privacy of another human being. As far as Duke has observed for Jason, Tim and most of all Bruce boundaries are something that happen to other people, and obsessive stalking, monitoring of activity and the odd forced entry are just signs of love and familial concern.

 

It’s fascinating.

 

As is the moment when Richard hesitantly excuses himself from the table to head back to Wisconsin and Damian, despite having barely said two words two him what's required by basic politeness, runs after him and then hesitates in the doorway and to the utter astonishment of everyone present (Alfred nearly drops a tray in shock), Damian call after him in a voice that coming from any other child would undeniably be considered sing- song: 

 

“Don’t be gone long be back soon! Never know where danger’s lurking!”

 

Dick turns, grins, does a funny little bow and sings back. “I loves ya, that’s why I! Say Cheerio! Not Goodbye!”

 

“Remember our old tune: Be back soon!”  Damian replies in the same sing-song grinning from ear to ear.

 

“So long faretheewell well, pip pip, cheerio, I’ll be back soon!” Dick dances a couple steps and then jumps clicking his heels together.

 

Damian giggles. Honestly to god _giggles_ , and then runs up and get swept into a bone crushing hug. Dick swings him around and then sets him down on his feet. “Give me one long last look, bless ya.”  


Damian gives him one more hug. Dick opens the door and literally dances down the steps. “And when I’m in the distance you’ll hear my whispered tune! So long faretheewell, pip pip cheerio, we’ll be back soon.” He warbles. 

 

He dances all the way down the driveway, there’s a lot of jumping and clicking of heels. Damian stands at the doorway watching him and giggling for a long while before he shuts the door.

 

There’s silence, and then Jason obviously can't contain himself anymore. “What the everloving shit fuck was that?”

 

Damian glares. “I wouldn’t expect someone like you would understand Todd, but some of us have souls and we express them through various artistic mediums.”

 

He glances at Duke who does his best to pretend he hadn’t thought the entire exchange might either have been a secret code or a hallucination and immediately starts nodding like he agrees.

 

Tim looks up from his phone. “Wait, what happened?”

 

Bruce seems to have disappeared.

 

 

 

 

Jason rubs his temples and thanks whatever saints or gods might be listening for the fact that Bruce had kept it together and hadn’t put Dick’s feet to the fire about the whole “Revealing possibly dangerous secrets on Instagram thing”  that he honestly had expected was going to happen at some point, and had also chosen to ignore the possible break with reality that had happened at the end of dinner.

 

Jason suspects Tim had given Bruce a stern talking to on the matter. Tim, as far as Jason could tell, was the only other native speaker of Bruce-BS in the world.

 

He's about to head home but when he gets to the entryway he finds Alfred bewilderedly staring down at one of those cheap IKEA hampers that he hates filled with what must be Damian’s crap (there’s a blanket with a wolf on it and Jason isn’t stupid).  He looks at Jason with a very veiled british sort of dismay. “It’s rather hefty. Would you bring this up to Master Damian for me?”  


Jason isn’t sure whether or not to call bullshit on that. Alfred may be approximately a thousand but he is also wiry and scrappy as fuck and Jason has secretly suspected for years that he has a ‘break-glass in case of emergencies’ files with ways to kill them all in much the same ways that Bruce has for the justice league.

 

Not that is would be hard for Alfred to kill them. He cooks for them and they’re all comfortable enough with him to sleep when he’s puttering around. It would probably take him less than a single evening to kill them all. With the possible exception of Damian who doesn’t seem to particularly like Alfred, and trusts absolutely no one.

 

Jason is seriously worried about the kid, and he’s not sure whether that weird goodbye with the song from Oliver! means he should by more or less worried about him.

 

It’s just so weird seeing Richard and Damian together because they have this strange shorthand between them built of dance steps, nature facts and song lyrics. It might be what people outside the bat family feel when they hang out with the family in their civilian personas, constantly making obscure references to things no one else understands. He supposes it’s natural. Though, honestly the whole thing is just... heartbreaking and exhausting.

 

And the basket of things he’d brought over for Damian is just full of innocuous every day things that might belong to an ordinary child, and isn’t that the strangest thought? That Damian for all his history and prodigious talents might be the most ordinary boy living in the manor.

 

Not that Jason is still a boy, he is a man thanks very much.

 

He hauls the hamper up the stairs and heads to the music room that Damian has colonized in the far corner of the east wing. It has not escaped Jason’s notice that this is about as far as away from the Batcave as you can get without leaving the house.

 

He checks all the furniture along the way in case Damian has chosen to hide somewhere other than his preferred spot under the Grand piano in the music room (and it’s gotten to be enough of a noticeable problem that Bruce had very awkwardly and subtly asked about why Damian didn’t seem to sit in chairs and Jason had just shrugged but he suspects that Damian is under increased surveillance while Bruce tries to figure out how to approach that particular parenting hurdle).

 

“Hey, kid. Something for you.” He announces himself once he finds the kid in his usual spot under the piano.

 

The kid looks up hopefully and then his face does something complicated when he sees the hamper.

 

“Where did that come from.”

 

“Your pal must’ve left it for you before he left.”

 

Damian looks at Jason and there’s something about his expression that is very very familiar. There’d been this old dog in Jason’s neighbourhood, a nice mutt kept alive more through collective goodwill than anything else and one day Jason had come across him struggling to stand in an alleyway, staring at Jason with sad confusion when he couldn’t make his legs work the way he wanted to. That was the way Damian was looking at Jason right now, like nothing made sense and he just needed to know why.

 

“Do you think...do you think he’s still mad at me? For the things I said? I tried to tell him I’m sorry. I tried to get him to stay but he wouldn’t. I really did try and tell him I was sorry.”

 

That’s not okay. Jason takes a deep breath. There’s a note tucked on top of the hamper that Jason is still holding, addressed to Bruce but Jason opens it anyway. It’s a comprehensive list, that looks like it was written by a serial killer, a childish script in bright blue pencil crayon, that lists all the little things Damian likes but won’t ask for.  Favourite snacks, favourite foods, the walks he takes with his dog, the coffee he’s not supposed to drink, the movies he watches when he’s scared, the audiobooks he listens to when he’s having a bad day.

 

This is not the list of someone who is angry, or who doesn’t care.

 

Jason groans and stares at the ceiling. It’s the list of someone who cares a whole hell of a lot. He sits down on the floor, near but not to close to Damian.

 

“He’s not mad.” Jason replies. “If he were mad he wouldn’t have left this.” He hands Damian the note, "Or this." He hand Damian the other note, the one addressed to him with a barely recognizable drawing of a daffodil scrawled at the top. “I think he honestly thinks this is the best way for the both of you to be safe, and... I know your mom. As much as I hate to say it: he’s right. You’re safest here for now, and your medical thing is only going to get solved here, for now.”

 

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” Damian asks in a small voice, as he opens the envelope and smooths out the letter. “I could never admit this to anyone else but... I miss her..”

 

Jason might owe Talia more than he’d care to admit but all the same, what she did to Damian wasn’t right or fair, and what she’s still doing by persecuting him like this is nearly monstrous. Not that that would stop Talia once her mind is made up.

 

Life’s not fair. Jason’s known that forever, and not because Wesley says it in The Princess Bride.

 

“I don’t know, kid. I really don’t know.”

 

“Do you think Grayson would ever be willing to move back to the Manor? Since I can’t move back to Wisconsin right now?”

 

Jason closes his eyes and leans against the leg of the piano. “I’m sorry buddy, he needs time, and even then... As much as we wish we’d got them all the Court of Owls is still out there, and coming back here...that would be painting a target on his back. And he might never be willing to risk that. He’s a survivor. That’s not going to change.”

 

 

 

 

Dick’s heart is in his throat when he wanders into the familiar off-campus coffee shop and sees Stephen’s familiar face waiting for him at what used to be their usual table. He’s barely spoken to Stephen in weeks. He’s dodged his calls, and texted back enough that Stephen could accuse him of ignoring him but, not enough to give his friend any information that he hadn’t had to read online.

 

He probably owes Stephen an explanation. Not that Stephen is stupid, he probably has had his suspicions about ‘Alexander Smith’, and honestly, Dick isn’t sure how much of the truth he owes Stephen, let alone how much he wants to share.

 

He sits down and Stephen just looks at him expectantly.

 

“Did you see...umh. The stuff...that I posted?” Dick asks.

 

Stephen nods. “Yeah.”

 

“Right...do you have any questions?”

 

“Is Robin meta too?”

 

“No.”

 

“Were you made in a secret lab?”

 

“Basically.”

 

“Are you in witness protection?”

 

“No.”

 

“Is Robin in witness protection?”

 

“Not any more.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“How much of everything you’ve ever told me about yourself is a complete lie?”

 

“I’m gonna go with 60%?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Are you mad at me?”

 

“I don’t know. This is kind of a weird situation. I’m not sure how I feel.”

 

“Are we still friends?”

 

“Yes, Jesus, I...I know you don’t know this but, I don’t have a lot of friends, and until this all went down I kind of um...” Stephen clears his throat awkwardly. “I considered you my best friend.”

 

“Oh.” Dick blinks at him. “I don’t think I ever had a best friend before. Elephants don’t count.”

 

Stephen tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes. “See, stuff like that- I never know whether or not to believe you.”

 

“Sorry.”  Dick shrugs and takes a breath for bravery. “Do you want to come over and watch movies with me? It’s lonely by myself now that Robin’s back with his bio-Dad.”

 

“Who is totally Bruce Wayne.”

 

“Whose identity I am not at liberty to disclose.”

 

“But which is totally Bruce Wayne....Wait, come over ot your apartment? Like, _where you live?_ ”  


“Yes.”

 

“You’ve never invited me over.”

 

“I’m trying to grow as a person, and expand the circle of trust.”

 

“You’ve been reading self-help books.”

 

“I’ve been watching TED talks on youtube.”

 

“Fair enough. In the name of expanding the circle of trust, are you gonna give me your new phone number so I don’t have to keep DM-ing you on Instagram like some kind of stalker fan.”

 

“Oh. Yeah, definitely.”  

 

Stephen doesn’t like musicals the way Dick does, or even the way Apollo secretly seems to, but after shrieking about the size of the penthouse, he humours Dick and even suggests a movie he’d like based on his interest in Supernanny.

 

It’s called Mary Poppins, and it may be the best thing Dick has ever seen. There are dancing penguins, and one man bands, and a crazy person with delusions who shoots off a canon to mark the hour but tries to warn everyone if they’re heading to trouble.

 

And then there’s a strange moment when Bert is covered in soot because he works as a chimney sweep and he scares the children because they don’t recognize him all covered in soot, and then he’s singing a song, in something that Dick thinks might be a minor key but he’s not sure and Damian would know but he’s not here to ask, and the mother doesn’t listen to him and there’s this line”

 

“ _where there’s hardly no day, nor hardly no night- there’s things half in shadow and halfway in light.”_

And the children get sucked up the chimney and there’s something about the smoke on the rooftops and then Bert looks at the view and says

 

“ _There’s the whole world at your feet and who gets to see it, but the birds, the stars and the chimney sweeps?”_

It’s only when Stephen pauses the movie and says “Xander? Are you okay?”

 

That Dick realizes he’s crying, tears just streaming down his face as he silently gasps for breath and tries not to make a sound.

 

He’s spent a lot of time on rooftops, and he’d look at the stars or the sunsets or sunrises, and the words to the song are cheerful but the tune feels sad, and he’s not sure why exactly he’s crying, other than the feeling of the scene is so familiar but somehow terrible because of it.

 

He misses Damian, and Zitka the Elephant. He wishes his parents were alive, and he wishes he were someone that could make things happen the way Bruce Wayne can.

 

He supposes he knows the feeling of watching a sunset from someplace horrible and holding the beauty of it in his heart and believing with blinding optimisim in something even you knew wasn’t real, if only because you had to hold on to a principle that might make things better.

 

Optimism hadn’t saved him. Giving up and giving in had. He’d run away, and he’d run to someone he thought would kill him and he hadn’t cared if he died so long as he made the people who hurt him suffer just a little bit like he had.

Stephen sits next to him and rubs his back and makes comforting shushing noises, and Dick just curls in on himself and tries to hold himself together.

 

“You gonna pull it together? Cause there’s a 14 minute dance sequence coming up that may be the second most impressive bit of musical theatre choreography recorded on film.” Stephen pauses and thinks about it. “Maybe third after Gene Kelly tap-dancing in roller skates...”

 

Dick wipes his eyes and nods. “I’m fine, let’s watch the rest of the movie.”

 

It’s a good movie, and the music is good, but Dick’s crying jag apparently put a damper on the whole evening.

 

Stephen looks at him awkwardly and opens and closes his mouth to ask a question, but never actually gets the words out.

 

“You gonna be okay with Robin away?” he finally asks. “You’re still doing that Yoga certification right?”

 

Dick swallows and realizes he hasn’t even thought about that since Damian left.

 

“I have to call them, and see if I can make up the classes I’ve missed.”  he admits. 

 

Stephen looks disappointed. He sighs heavily. “I guess I don’t need to ask about your school work for the GED?”

 

Dick’s not even sure where he put that.

 

Stephen sighs again and stands up. “Okay, we’re gonna do our version of ‘tidy up the nursery’, this place is great, but I’m guessing you haven’t actually gone over anything since you went AWOL and then miraculously reappeared?”

 

Dick makes a face and Stephen tuts. “Alexander. What would Jo Frost say?!”

 

Dick shrugs sheepishly. “Structure and order are important?”

 

Stephen nods. “So come on-“ he hauls Dick to his feet. “Let’s sort things out so that you are once again the surprisingly functional semi-adult that I know you to be.”

 

Later than evening as Dick is sitting sorting through unopened mail, he looks up at Stephen and asks. “What would you do if someone you cared about a lot got hurt?”

 

“I don’t know, let me think... I’d probably help them, you know: like I’m helping you now.” Stephen replies with distracted sarcasm.

 

“No, that’s not what I mean...” Dick bites his lip. “I mean...what would you do to the person that hurt them? Would you try to make them pay?”

 

Stephen sighs and picks up an envelope that has fallen behind the bedside table. “This may surprise you, but most ordinary people don’t have a lot of options with things like that. We can either press charges and hope justice is served or we just have to learn to deal. Speaking of which.” He tosses the envelope to Dick. “That seems important, you probably were supposed to answer it by now.”

 

Dick frowns at the return address on the envelope and moves his lips as he sounds out the words. “Department of Correc- oh shit.”

 

Stephen points finger guns at him. “You might want to get on that ASAP.”

 

 

 

Damian goes down to the cave for the first time the night after Dick’s visit at Duke’s invitation. Specifically Duke’s request for assistance in close combat. Apparently he found training under Batman’s less than complete attention rather unfulfilling, and Drake and Todd spent more time arguing with each other about strategies than helping him when he approached them for assistance.

 

It doesn’t take Damian long to pinpoint what the problem is. Drake relies on speed and accuracy for his fighting. He lacks size or strength and so relies on being exactly where he needs to be in exactly the right moment. No wasted energy or movement.

 

Todd relies on size and brute force, along with considerable fire power and greater brutality than his opponents. The number of petty criminals with testicular trauma and gouged eyes was considerable these days.

 

Neither of these was an option for Duke who did not have the skill necessary to emulate Drake’s style yet and did not have the size to mimic Todd. He knew a few good moods no doubt taught by Batman in those rare moments when nothing was on fire, the world wasn’t ending and the family wasn not imploding in resentment and dysfunction.

 

Duke was actually better suited for Damian’s old fighting style than Damian himself was. Damian’s size meant that he really ought to rely on momentum and acrobatics for the most efficient fighting possible, and while he had naturally been taught those moves they were considered beneath the dignity of an Al Ghul. Not to mention that a fighting style that relied on his small stature would have presumably become obsolete and have to be unlearned once he hit his growth spurt.

 

An ironic turn of logic it turned out, as the years went by and still Damian didn’t grow.

 

All the same Damian was surprised to find he didn’t mind returning to the training room. Dick had taught him to fly here, and he found himself drawn to the obstacle course netting.

 

“DAMIAN!” Duke whines from the mats as Damian searches out familiar hand holds and starts climbing.

 

“Perform the strike again Thomas!” Damian calls over his shoulder. “Your form is still sloppy.”

 

He watches Duke perform it. “Better.” He concedes. “You should acquire as many knives as possible. Cut low. It’s unexpected and if an opponent is on the ground size is no longer an obstacle.”

 

Duke sighs heavily. “I thought we’d spar! I didn’t think you’d just wander around giving pointers.”

 

Damian gauges the distance, sends a small prayer up to whoever might be listening and jumps between the obstacles.

 

It’s surprising how quickly things come back. It’s like playing a piano piece he hasn’t practiced in a while, his fingers know the routes they need to take, the rhythm might be off, and there was the occasional wrong note (which in this case translated into minor scrape or bruise, and smacking his nose against the uneven bars once) but he could still do it...just not as well or as smoothly as before.

 

He dismounts landing awkwardly but not badly and feeling...calmer than he has in days.

 

“Wow. That. Was. Awesome.”

 

Duke’s voice makes him jump and the older teen is standing at the grappling mats staring intently at Damian. “Where did you learn to do that? None of the Bats move like that.. was it the assassins?”

 

“No.”

 

“Who was it?”  
 

“That was courtesy of the Flying Graysons.” Damian replies archly.

 

“Who?!”

 

“Find out for yourself. Consider it another training exercise.”

 

Duke considers it. “Will you be impressed if I figure it out.”

 

Damian sneers. “I am not impressed by anything.”

 

Duke snorts. “Don’t try and pull that with me. I’ve seen you singing Oliver! back and forth with your older brother, the illusion is shattered, you can never be intimidating again.”

 

Damian walks over, and with a few quick moves knocks Duke down and pins him to the mat. “Insulting someone who is doing you a favour is not a good strategy if you wish them to complete the favour.”  He stands up and begins to walk out.

 

“Oh, come on Damian! I didn’t mean it as an insult!”

 

Damian turns around, arms crossed. “And?” he prompts.

 

Duke rolls his eyes. “And I’m sorry if you took it that way and I hurt your feelings.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Good.”

 

There’s a pause.

 

“Will you teach me the acrobatic stuff?” Duke asks.  

 

“No. It’s not mine to teach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought about editing this chapter down quite a bit, but I know people like the sort of "Day in the Life" kind of scenes so I figured I'd keep them in and have a bit more action in the next chapter to make up for this one being a bit slow. 
> 
> That scene with Damian singing Oliver! with Dick may be the most ridiculous thing I've ever writting. And I once wrote a story where someone was in love with a sentient space ship. But, once I had the idea it wouldn't leave so. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> How everyone is still liking it! Thanks for the comments they're very helpful and motivate me to keep writing!


	11. Step 10: Find Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a domino effect of dubious choices.

 

Apollo looks a little apprehensive when he shows up at Dick’s door.

 

“I hope I haven’t made a horrible mistake.” He grumbles as Dick squeals in excitement and jumps up and down.

 

“Don’t worry! You’re gonna look great AND! You’re the first guest! I’ve ever had! On my channel!”

 

Apollo looks if anything, even more nervous. “Lucky me?” He does not sound sincere, but Dick chooses to ignore that.

 

This is actually more  a testing/experimental session than the filming for the final video. There’s a bunch of things that need to get worked out, like, how low does Apollo need to keep his powers before the makeup stops just melting off him? And what sort of look should Dick do on him in the first place, since Apollo has incredibly rugged and masculine features and he could try and soften that or steer into it and make him look like a very handsome apex predator. Oh decisions decisions.

 

Dick has the camera going because he figures he can do a bloopers video once the final one is released.

 

“Sooo...how ya been?” Apollo asks as Dick starts swatching foundation on him.

 

Dick leans back and narrows his eyes. “Did you agree to this just so you could check in on me?”

 

Apollo makes a face. “NAILED it! Be glad it’s me and not M because I really don’t think M would let you give him a make-over.”

 

“This is not a make-over! This is just a make-up look! And it’s not like I twisted your arm! It’s not like I ever could!”

 

“No need to be so defensive.”

 

Dick pouts exaggeratedly. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed. The Damian situation is just GHARGH!...Very frustrating.”

 

“I thought that was getting better, cause you were visiting again and working out some sort of custody thing with the Dad.”

 

“Yeah, except there’s nothing to work out. Damian needs to be in Gotham so he can have medical care without worrying his psycho mom is hacking the hospital records and hijacking all the procedures.”

 

Apollo’s eyes go wide. “That’s intense. Need any of mine or Midnighter’s kind of help with that?”

 

Dick sighs, and shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s horrible but she’s his mom, I don’t think he’d want us to do anything about it.”

 

He huffs and puts his head in his hands, the he gets up and turns the camera off. He stands looking at nothing for a minute.

 

“Hey...Apollo?” he asks after a while. “What did M do to the people that hurt you?”

 

“Killed ‘em, mostly. The ones who hadn’t managed to die on their own, and they were the sorts of people who mostly met bad ends long before M ever found them.”

 

“Because you didn’t want to care about them anymore. Not because you weren’t able to kill them yourself. ”  


“Sure. Let’s go with that.”

 

“What did you do to the people that hurt M?” Dick asks.

 

“What makes you think someone hurt M?”

 

“He exists.”

 

Apollo raises his eyebrows. “M kills his own demons, and then mounts their heads on his front lawn as a warning to anyone else who might get ideas.”

 

“C’mon. Don’t give me that.”

 

Apollo sighs. “Anyone who is still alive after M’s done with them is alive because he wants them that way. I don’t step on his toes about it.”

  
  
“But-“

 

“There’s nothing I can do okay?! You think I haven’t brought it up?” There’s a hiss as the floor varnish starts to bubble under his feet.

 

“Yeah. Sorry.”

 

Apollo is floating now. Dick walks over to his bed and flops down onto it.

 

Apollo watches him for a second. “Soo...I take it you’re not doing great.”

 

Dick flips him the bird without lifting his face out of his blanket.

 

Apollo flops down next to him. “It’s hard but, you’ll get through. Things to get easier with time and it’s easier with help. That’s not actually bullshit for all it sounds like it is. You have help. Damian has help. It’s gonna be okay.”

 

Dick stares at the phone but doesn’t turn it on. Apollo is so much bigger than him that he can feel himself rolling towards the dip he makes in the bed.

 

“What did you do to the people that hurt you?” Apollo asks. “Did you kill them?”

 

“No. Mostly not. The Bat had a bunch of them arrested and there was another assassin who got some of them before they got to trial. ”

 

“A less moral one?”

 

“A less sane one.”

 

“Ah. That happens. I killed my creators. M hasn’t killed his, but that’s because he has no memory to understand the enormity of what the bitch did to him.”

 

“I want to kill Damian’s. I shouldn’t but... I don’t want to answer my letters or my messages or get my GED or anything. I am so angry and I don’t have anywhere to point it. Maybe I should just do what M does and point the monster I was made into at someone who deserves it.”

  
Apollo looks at him. “Look, I’m not arguing that vengeance isn’t good for the soul on occasion, but-“

  
“But, She should be his to kill, if he chooses.”

 

“Well.. yeah, but also- you don’t like violence. It upsets you. Like, a lot.”

 

Dick covers his face and curls towards the warmth of Apollo.

 

“I don’t know you that well,” Apollo murmurs. “But I do know that everything you hate about yourself are the things that you were made into, and if you decide to be an assassin again, it’s not going to make you feel better.”

 

“I’m dead.” Dick mumbles wetly behind his hands.  “I was dead before I met Damian.”

 

Apollo hums noncommittally. “You’re dead now. Technically.”

 

“No, I mean. I was okay with being dead, I figured someone would come along with the coup de grace any day and it would be lights out and that would be okay because heroes kill the bad guys, and I was a bad guy.”

 

“That’s why you don’t kill, and why you disapprove of M and I killing. You’ve explained this.”

  
  
“Yeah, but... then I met Damian and I decided I could be the one person who made a difference. I could be something useful. I could make him safe and he saved me and I protected him, but it wasn’t good enough. Because he’s not safe here, because of her. Because his own Mother just keeps trying to hurt him for no reason. Or for a reason, but not a very good one. There’s never good enough reasons.”

 

“Let’s agree to disagree on that.”

 

“And she might not have made him right. She might have made him sick on purpose so he’d have to come back to her if he ever got away.”

 

“That’s fucked up.”

 

Dick snarls. “That’s no where near the most fucked up thing she’s done, and I hate her!” He punches the bed next to him and practically screams. “I hate her so much for what she’s done and what she’s put Damian through!! I just want to make her pay, but I know that’s not what he wants, and I know that wouldn’t help me in the long run it’s just!” He punches the bed again. “It’s what I know how to do and it would solve problems and it’ s just hard because I just don’t know what the right thing to do is!!! I don’t know how to fix the problems that we have, and I don’t like the way things are but I don’t know how to change them. Unless I kill her and make damn sure she stays dead, then Damian isn’t safe outside of Gotham, and I don’t feel safe in Gotham and I don’t want to live there, but maybe I should try?”

 

“Okay, I get that this is a low point for you but you have got to take a breath and calm down.”

 

Dick scowls. “This is not a low point. I’ve had points much much lower than this.” 

 

He sighs and leans against Apollo’s shoulder.

 

“Was M leaving the low point for you?”

 

Apollo shakes his head. “No.” He doesn’t elaborate. Dick figures he probably hadn’t earned the right to pry yet.

 

“Why did he leave? Seems weird since he literally worships you.”

 

Apollo sighs heavily. “He’ll never admit it but I think it boiled down to: he thought he couldn’t be human without me, that loving me was the only human thing about him and I’d eventually figure that out and make him leave. So he beat me to the punch.”

 

Dick frowns. “That’s stupid.”

 

“Free advice from me to you: people and feelings are often very stupid. There’s no real logic to it and anyone who says otherwise is in deep deep denial.” Apollo sighs again. “So why did the kid leave? Was it just the Dad showing up and taking him away?”

 

Dick shakes his head. “It’s more complicated than that. He’s afraid of who he is. His mom is trying to kill him and that’s got him all twisted up inside, and...I honestly think he was probably trying to protect me. He’s so scared of her, and of himself.”

 

“God damn. That’s awful.”

 

“Yeah.” Dick sits up and hugs his knees.

 

Apollo props his chin up on his elbow. “Protect you from him or from her?”

  
“Both. Either. I doubt he knows, honestly. She made a new version of him, some..clone thing that is only a year old but looks thirty. His dad s-“

 

“Wait, it’s a kid but it looks like an adult and it’s treated like an adult? And it’s a version of her son?!” Apollo sits bolt upright at that revelation.

 

“Yeah? It’s a replacement. Does all the stuff Damian used to do only looks like an adult.”

 

“Oh my god.” Apollo swallows a few times. “I may actually be sick.”  He puts his head between his knees and takes deep breathes. “She’s using her son to kill people? And she’s done this before with _your_ kid who is what? Ten?”

  
  
“He’s twelve. He’s been away from her for just over two years.”

 

“And meanwhile she turned a toddler into a killing machine.”

 

“He’s an adult.”

 

“Maybe, or maybe not, or maybe he’s some other thing. Whatever he is he doesn’t deserve _that!_ ”

 

Dick frowns and turned thoughtful. He jumps to his feet. “You know. You’re right!  If no one deserves to die then it follows that everyone deserves to be saved.”

 

“I’m sorry?” Apollo raises a hand. “I did not say that.”

 

“YES!” Dick is completely ignoring him and jumping off the bed. “We can rescue him! This is something I can do! This is something I can fix. Something we can fix. Plus we can maybe tangentially revist that whole skull pyramid vengeance proposal that you made! But it’s not about violence! It’s not about revenge! It’s about helping someone! Oh my god. It’s win-win!”

 

Apollo raises his eyebrows. “You’re batshit.”

  
  
“Obviously.”

 

 “You’re not gonna move him into the kid’s room, right? Replace him like a creeper?”

 

“Of course not! You and M must know someone who could do something. Who could help. Cult deporgrammers or special ed teachers or something.” 

  
“The fact that you think the two are somehow related is deeply disturbing.”

 

“Whatever. It’s a plan, though? We go, leave this stuff for Damian and then you, me and M go and rain some hell down on the Al Ghuls. We rescue the prisoners and we...we make the world better! We help people get better. Like we got better.”

 

Apollo grins. “That is a tempting thought.”

 

 

 

M steps through a Door into Grayson’s apartment later that night. “Hey, light of my life I got your text and I come bearing take-out!”  He stops dead when he catches sight of Apollo and gasps. “What did you let this gremlin do to your face?”

 

Apollo touches his face self-consiously.  “Do you not like it?”

 

“I like your face. But Your face doesn’t look like your face right now!”

 

“You look fabulous!” Talon chimes in. “And it’s not like it’s permanent!” he adds with a sharp glare in M’s direction.

 

“So what have you chickadees been doing all day?” M asks, pulling containers of Chinese food out of a paper bag.

 

Apollo and Dick share a look “We have come up with a plan. An excellent plan.”

 

“Your favourite type of plan. It involves frontal assault, revenge and rescuing the innocent.”  Apollo points out. 

 

M smiles. “I love you so much. Even with that shit on your face.”

 

 

 

#

 

Damian is reading about the hyper-fertile soils in the Amazon basin and the possibilities of recreating them elsewhere when the alarm goes off. It’s one Damian is familiar with and while he does know that protocol dictates he should head down to the cave when unknown flying vehicles/persons are detected, it usually indicates nothing more than the fact that Superman is occasionally absent-minded and neglected to call ahead. So he continues reading.

 

He sits up in surprise when Titus pricks his ears up and runs barking towards the front door just before the bell rings. That is unusual. The moronic alien from Kansas never uses the front door.

 

Damian has just decided to investigate when he turns a corner and finds himself face to face with Richard holding a letter up in front of him like a shield.

 

Dick clears he throat. “I got a letter and we need to decide what to do about your court date.”

 

“Court date?”

 

“We never got back to the lawyer and the deal expired. It’s all for Robin Smith so you could decide to burn the identity and not show up but having a second identity with an established history could be beneficial in the long run.”

 

Damian stares at him and tries to talk around the lump in his throat.

 

“Maybe we could walk around the gardens and talk about this?” Dick asks.

 

 Damian stares at him blankly. “ There's no need for a walk around the gardens to discuss anything. I don’t want to burn Robin. I want to be Robin. I want to be Robin again more than anything.”

 

Dick accidentally crumbles the letter he's holding into a ball. “Fuck.” He whispers and it makes Damian chuckle. Richard crouches down and looks Damian in the face. “I have a plan. Me and a couple friends. We’re gonna do something dangerous and maybe stupid but, if it goes right...you won’t have to be anything but Robin ever again if you don’t want to. It will be safe for you to come back to Wisconsin.”

 

Damian shakes his head and sniffs. “Mother would never allow it.”

 

There’s a long pause. “Your mother wouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

 

Damian jerks away and stares up at the Talon. “Richard. What are you suggesting?”

 

Talon shrugs. “I know people. I have skills, and she...she did things. To you, to your brother. We’re gonna stop her.”

 

“You’re going to kill her.” Damian knows he should feel something at that possibility. He doesn't. Or he feels too much. It's Mother, but she's hurt him and she left him, and he doesn't know what he would do without her to fight against. 

 

“We’re going to destroy her. Death is immaterial, but resources...resources change everything.”

 

Damian shakes his head. “You don’t understand her. You don’t know what she’s like. She’ll rebuild. She’ll come back- _she knows who you are._ ”

 

Talon leans forward and grins. “But does she know I can’t be killed in normal ways?”

 

That does make Damian pause. In all likelihood his mother and her goons would make the same mistake everyone made when they encountered a Talon for the first time. They’d dispatch him as quickly and efficiently as possible, which inevitably would not be in a way that was permanent for someone of his enhancements.

 

“She’ll figure it out!” Damian hisses. “It’s hard to miss!”

 

Talon rolls his eyes, and moves to stand up, patting Damian on the shoulder. “The people I’m working with are the very very best at what they do. They won’t let her get me, and you’re safe here. She doesn’t tangle with Batman for a reason.”

 

Damian grips Dick’s wrist in a vice. “Maybe not. But if you succeed she’ll want revenge.”

 

That finally is enough to make him hesitate. He bites his lip and Damian is too caught up in hoping he’ll change his mind to tell him to stop.

 

“I...I have to save your brother though.” Dick finally says. “No one else will if I don’t.”

 

And Damian’s stomach swoops in a way that might be fear, or hope or anxiety or some combination of the three. He doesn’t know. The idea of his brother has tormented him ever since he found out and realized what the implications were for his own creation. But, his actual brother, the human who was two but functioned as an adult, the reality of him. The possibility of who he was beyond a monster or his mother’s attack dog. The person and individual he was rather than a weapon...that had never felt real to Damian. It honestly had been something he barely considered. He’d considered his suffering, but not who he might be if removed from that suffering. That had not crossed his mind.

 

Of course that's what Dick has been thinking about, though. Dick is a good person. He's kind, and he wants to help people, and he doesn't understand how rare a combination that actually is. 

 

Dick is right. Damian’s brother is a human being who deserves to have someone rescue him if he’s unable to rescue himself.

 

“She’ll retaliate.” Is all Damian can say. A broken record skipping on the same phrase. “Right now you’re nothing to her. Take her son and she’ll make you pay. She’ll hurt you the worst way she can think of.”

 

“We’ll manage. Apollo can literally walk on the surface of the sun, and I’m not sure if he can be killed. ”

 

Damian grips his brother’s wrist. “You have to let me come with you. I can get you in. I know where things are.”

 

“No, Damian! I would never put you in that situation! This is a rescue mission, and we’re not gonna put you in danger!”

 

“But you’re gonna just waltz in there and risk your life?!”

 

“I am doing something, so I don’t do something worse. Saving Heretic is worth doing, and it’s the right thing to do and... if I don’t do it who will?”

 

“Apollo and Midnighter!! You just told me Apollo can’t be killed!”

 

“Apollo also doesn’t usually deal with assassins and Midnighter doesn’t usually leave people alive. I am somewhat of an expert on shadowy organizations that run the world from the shadows and specialize in assassins. I also happen to be personable and likeable which is important since the entire point of this little operation is to rescue someone who, when you boil it down is a traumatised two year old!”

 

“Okay.” Damian relents, head bowed, eyes shut and teeth clenched. Agreeing because he doesn't want to find out whether Dick will do it anyway even if he doesn't agree. 

 

“Really?”

 

“I don’t like it and consider my objection officially filed. And I will never forgive you if my mother captures you and tortures you into insanity and/or kills you.”

 

“Consider your objection noted.”

 

“So, what will you do with Heretic once you get him out? He may not come quietly. I would never have left if mother hadn’t forced me to come and learn from Father.”

 

“We’re gonna try and find someone from M’s contacts who can help. Apparently he’s friends with a social worker who might be able to find something appropriate.”

 

“You know what the obvious solution to this problem is right?” Damian asks. 

 

Dick stares at him wide-eyes, and Damian immediately knows that the solution has occurred to him and he is wilfully ignoring it.

 

“You could ask the most prominent crime-fighter who specialises in meta-assassin criminals, who happens to be the biological father of the child/killing machine in question.” Damian continues. 

 

“He’ll send him to Arkum and you know the success rate for patients there? No one gets better! No one!” Dick objects. 

 

“Father must have other options available. Meta-related crime is hardly unique to Gotham.”

 

“I don’t want him getting involved.”

 

“I don’t want you or Heretic to die.”  


“I’m already dead!” Dick shouts. 

 

“No, you’re not! And if you were than I don’t know what I would do!!” Damian shouts back. 

 

Dick reaches over and pulls Damian to him. “Than I promise I’ll come back okay?”

 

“You can’t know what will happen.”

 

“Sure I can. Midnighter has a computer in his brian that fights every fight a million times before it happens. It’s very accurate.”

 

Damian snickers and leans his head against Dick's side. “I stand corrected, then. Please be safe.”

 

“I’ll be back before the court date.”

 

“You better be.”

 

“Okay, one last look.” Dick smiles, pushing Damian away so he can look at his face.

 

“Remember our old tune.”  
 

“I’ll be back soon.”

 

 

# 

 

 

Jason has a quick conference with Tim about everything he’d overheard on the security camera before destroying the footage, and it takes them very little time to decide that adding Bruce to the already volatile mix of traumatised ex-assassin, literal killing machine and slightly tempermental sun god was a bad idea.

 

That didn’t mean that this group of amateurs didn’t need some adult supervision when it came to fighting the League of Shadows.

 

Tim was, obviously, the best man for the job but after the last kidnapping incident he made a point to never be in the same country as Ra’s Al Ghul if he could help it, a policy Jason reluctantly had to support.

 

Jason was a close second to Tim when it came to knowledge of the assassins, and unlike Tim there would good odds he’d be able to just casually stroll in, have a chat with Talia, and then stroll out again.

 

Well, she’d definitely let him _in_ , letting him _out_ was a toss up but that’s where the other members of the team could come in.

 

“Funny thing about Bruce Wayne’s place,” Jason declares as he drops down into the seat across from the Talon, currently made-up and wearing electric blue false eyelashes despite being out at one of Gotham's sketchier diners, “most of it is bugged.”

 

Dick just blinks at him and then nibbles on a fry. Jason frowns at the spread of food laid out on the table. “You tryin’ to blend in or something?”

 

“Hey!” a gruff voice shouts. “Sweetheart, this guy bothering you?”

 

A huge guy with bright blonde hair and a face like a brick wall walks over, accompanied by a smaller dude with a douche-y hair cut and a smile that spelled trouble.

 

Jason glances between them and Dick. “No. We’re just talking.”

 

“Ha. I don’t recall asking you.” Blonde-y growls looking expectantly at Dick who shrugs and just says: “This is Jason.”

 

“Ah.” The men share a look. “Here to cause trouble are ya?”

 

“Here to help you run this little op without getting caught or getting killed, idiots.”

 

The guys drop into the booth. Blonde-y who Jason’s gonna guess is Apollo sits next to Dick, Douche-y who must be Midnighter, sits next to Jason.

 

“M is notoriously difficult to kill.” Apollo tells him proudly. “He’s known for it.”

 

“Well, rumour has it you got ganked so maybe don’t sound so freakin’ smug.”

 

“Whoa! Way to just go there asshole!” M shouts.

 

“Umm, excuse me? Who at this table has died?” Jason asks and he, Apollo and Dick raise their hands. “Yeah, so shut the fuck up, Midnighter.”

 

“You were dead? Like, dead-dead for real no take backs, dead?” Dick asks, sounding slightly shocked.

  
  
“Yes, congratulations. You’re a level 10 friend, you’ve unlocked my tragic backstory. The point that’s important to this little murder-powwow is how I became no longer dead.”

 

M narrows his eyes. “That is true. You’re not just reanimated, like T here. You’re like, legit, alive.”

 

“Yeah, courtesy of..drumrolll please-“ because Dick is a complete nerd he actually does a little drumroll on the table looking completely intrigued by what is about to be revealed, M and Apollo do not look nearly as impressed “Talia Al Ghul.”

 

“Oh damn.”

 

“Yes, the very woman you are seeking to destroy considers me a confidante.”

 

“And how do you feel about this?” Apollo asks dubiously. 

 

“I mean, she did save my life and then send me home to Bruce the minute I was lucid? So....not great. Little bit conflicted here.”

 

“She’s a very bad person.” Dick informs him solemnly. 

 

“I know.”

  
“We need to destroy her so Damian can hope to one day leave Gotham.” M adds. 

 

“I know.”

 

“She turned an actual infant into a killing maching. Twice.” Apollo sneers. 

 

Jason grits his teeth. “I am aware of that.”

 

“I’m just saying, we’d really like you to be fully commited if you’re gonna do this with us.” Dick informs him. 

 

Jason opens his jacket to reveal his shoulder holsters, and pulls his favourite gun, the one with the pearl handle, out of his belt and puts it on the table. “Consider me fully fucking committed, okay?”

 

M and Apollo share a look. “Okay.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, hope everyone is enjoying the turn this is taking! Figured I'd throw this out there since it makes sense to have the chapter end where it does.
> 
> I've been weirdly trying to work M and Apollo asking "Is this guy bothering you?" to Dick about a member of the Batfamily since chapter 1


	12. Run Out of Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason, Dick, Midnighter and Apollo put their plan into action. Jason isn't quite ready for what that entails. Bruce deals with the consequences

Dick paces back and forth and double checks his make-up for the hundredth time. He’s agonised over it for the last few days to distract himself from the stress of what they’re going to do.

 

M watches him from where he’s sprawled out on the couch. They’re waiting for Jason to signal that he’s in and then M’ll open a Door to Infinity Island and they’ll search the place.

“It’s a good look.” M offers completely insincerely.  
  
Dick makes a face at him and keeps pacing. He had switched it up at the last minute. He’d planned to do a very intense sort of scary glam look with a dark lip and smokey eyes and contouring that made him look like a bird of prey.

 

He’d decided that on the off chance Heretic was at Infinity Island he wouldn’t want to scare him off.

 

So he’d gone for a more non-threatening look, reaching back to early Wisconsin era stuff- golds and pastels, only without the contouring, foundation or contact lenses.

 

It’s the first time in a maybe ever that he’d put together a look that didn’t hide his dead eyes or his dead skin.

 

There’s a chirp from the radio and M stands up. “Show time T. Door.”

 

The Doors continue to be very very impressive to Dick who used to get almost everywhere on foot.

 

This one opens up into a lower level in the compound on Infinity Island. It’s deserted. Dick looks questioningly at M who shrugs.

 

They head off in a random direction.

 

There are a lot of what are probably servants quarters, small utilitarian bedrooms, and a mess hall. An armoury which M peruses with professional interest while Dick stands with his back against the door pretending his skin isn’t trying to crawl off just being near that many knives.

 

They keep heading down and finally find themselves in a cavern with a glowing green pool. Dick knows what this is. It’s what brought Jason back to life. A Lazarus pit.

 

He leans out over the ledge of cliff mesmerized by the glow of the water. M jerks him back. “Don’t even think it.”

 

“But, it brings people back from the dead and I-“ Dick protests.

 

“I know exactly what you’re think and it’s too risky.”

 

“I could be alive again!”

 

“You’re alive now! What could happen is you end up really dead! _Or worse!_ ”

 

“You can’t possibly understand!”  
 

M hauls him back out of the cavern both hands on his shoulders. “Of course I do! I’ve made hard choices! I could have found out who I was before this! The human this body used to be! What his name was and where he came from! EVERYTHING!”

 

Dick swallows.

 

“If it was a sure thing I’d toss you in there myself!” M continues. “But this is magic and magic screws you over! Especially anything to do with bringing someone back from the dead. You aren’t yours to risk right now. What about the kid if you come back wrong, huh? What about if you don’t come back at all? They. Need. You. They need you to be okay.”

 

Dick hesitates glancing over his shoulder at the green glow of the pit. He takes a deep shakey breath and nods. “Okay. Fine...okay.”

 

M lets him go. “We’ll look into it, okay? The Lazarus pits are a naturally occurring magical phenomenon. They won’t be going anywhere.”  He turns to walk back down the hallway. “Come one, let’s see if we can find what we’re looking for.”

 

 

 

They don’t find Heretic, but they didn’t really expect to. Jason had assured them that it was unlikely that he’d be here but worth checking before they lost the element of surprise. Not to mention that this would be where any medical information about Damian and his clone would be kept and there’s no way they could get that through anything but covert means.

 

The lab is... terrible and familiar and it makes Dick’s skin crawl even worse than the armoury had.

 

“Well, a God Gardener she is not.” M quips as he checks over the equipment. “This looks like a hack job.”

 

Dick forces himself to move away from the exit.

 

“Where would the information we need be?”

 

M shrugs and starts thumbing through paper records. “Let’s just take it all? Grab that harddrive. Door.”

 

The Door opens and M starts tossing paper files through it. Dick starts unplugging everything that looks remotely like a computer and carrying them through. An alarm is going off in the distance.

 

“Think Jason will need a rescue?” Dick asks.

 

“Definitely-oh gross.”  M has opened a freezer

 

Dick pokes his head out of the Door. “What?”

 

M opens the door all the way and Dick can see...he’s not sure what he’s looking at.

 

“Are those....?”

 

“Back up clones, or failed ones.”

 

Dick thinks he might be sick.

 

M’s face softens below his mask. “It’s okay T. Just breathe.” There’s a crash from above and they both look up. “Sounds like Apollo made his grand entrance. That’s our cue to leave.”

 

Dick nods and M follows him through the Door.

 

M takes a deep breath. “I hope Apollo doesn’t find that place. He’ll get upset.”

 

Dick puts a hand on M’s shoulder. “He’ll be okay, even if he does.”

 

M snorts. “It’s not _him_ I’m worried about.”

 

 

 

Jason is not prepared for Apollo at full-power crashing through the roof with more style than any of the actual Greek Gods ever managed. Apparently, he usually was only ‘charged’ to a fraction of what he could be, otherwise the solar radiation sort of slipped out and he accidentally set things on fire.

 

There’d been a lot of significant looks and expressions from M during _that_ little explanation and Jason’s not sure whether that means he should interpret it as a fucking lie and Apollo actually does it to keep his blast radius smaller in the event he makes a bad call or whether it means that Apollo is wildly oversimplifying a complicated issue or whether he’s just lying cause the truth is too hard to explain.

 

That’s the problem with metas, sometimes they just flat out lie because the truth might break your brain.

 

Apollo had been flying above the cloud cover for three days straight (apparently eating and sleeping were very much in the ‘optional’ column for him) and he is luminous. He smelled like heat, his eyes were just points of fire in his glowing face, there was a halo effect that was happening and Jason didn’t know if it was because of the way the air shimmered with heat near Apollo’s skin or because of the light that was leaking out of every pore.

 It was freaky, and vaguely gross.

 

Apollo seemed a bit self-conscious about it and Jason wasn’t actually an asshole so he was trying not to stare. Not  to mention Jason suspected the Midnighter would karate chop him in the neck at the slightest hint that Jason have judged or might ever judge Apollo.

 

M was very protective of a dude that supposedly had the juice to go head to head with Superman, but then again, apparently he had died that one time so Jason figures it’s probably fair.

 

Anyway, speaking of Superman, Jason thinks he may finally understand the appeal of that because, that moment when Apollo in all his shinining vaguely angelic glory had smashed through the roof at exactly the moment that Jason was about to find himself in serious trouble with Talia’s guards was...

 

 

                ....well, it was something.

 

 

M opens a door for Apollo and then...they’re back in M’s apartment which may actually be a pocket dimension, though no one has ever said as much in so many words but it’s only accessible by teleport door and is apparently everywhere and nowhere...so...Jason’s made some assumptions.

 

Anyway, back in his apartment they’re faced with what Dick and M had collected, which is basically any piece of paper of computer equipment that wasn’t too heavy to move.

 

Apollo makes a face when he sees it and sort of dumps Jason on the ground.

 

“Ew. Paperwork.” The sun-god mutters stepping over Jason.

 

M is already flicking through the pages of a big paper file while Dick seems to be sorting everything into different piles based on subject.

 

M just glares at the two of them. “Either help or shut up.”

 

Apollo pouts and goes to sit next to M.

 

Jason frowns at the mess as he picks himself up off the floor. “What are we looking for exactly?”

 

“Anything on Damian, or Heretic.” Dick tells him as he flips through a folder before tossing it onto a pile.

 

Jason sighs, and points to the computer. “Anything about them would be on those, she’d never risk putting that information somewhere anyone other than her could see it.”

 

Apollo leans his head on M’s shoulder. “Any break-up friends know how to hack a mainframe?”

 

Jason winces. “Actually...I may..still have clearance.” 

 

M winks at him. “Perfect. That pile is yours.”

 

It’s obviously the biggest pile.

 

Jason glares at M, who stares him down. Apollo is looking between them like it’s a tennis game. Dick, as usual, seems pretty oblivious to the underlying tensions in the room, but Jason has learned that that usually mean he’s carefully monitoring them and will step in to de-escalate should things go south.

 

Dick is a mystery, wrapped in an enigma and coated with iridescent highlighter. Jason’s not sure whether he has a crush on him or is terrified of him, or both. Though Jay likes to think he usually has better taste than that, but then again it’s not as though there’s a long list of exs to point to as proof.   

 

 

 

 

It takes a bit of work to open the database but Jason understands the way Talia’s mind works, everything is upside down and backwards to the logic of the rest of the world. It’s never been that she wasn’t an intellectual match for the Batman it’s been that she was choosing to indulge him by playing his little game according to his rules.

 

It’s not like they don’t have time. Jason is relatively sure that everyone on the island is now either dead or thoroughly incapacitated.

 

Jason frowns as he skims the information on Talia’s genetic experiments. He swallows. It’s pretty damning and there’s just _so_ much of it.

 

Apollo stands behind him and reads over his shoulder as Jason scrolls through it. He makes a small wounded noise and suddenly starts glowing brighter and brighter.

 

M looks a little nervous.  “Andrew...?”  

 

Apollo has a hand clamped over his mouth, and he’s shinning so brightly now that it makes Jason’s eyes water to look at him too directly. The air around him is shimmering with the heat coming off his skin. The floor underneath him has cracked from the sudden change in temperature.

 

“Babe, it’s okay, just stop looking. Okay? It won’t make a difference to what happened. You don’t need to see that.” M pleads.

 

Apollo just shakes his head, hand still clamped over his mouth, eyes focused on the screen.

 

M sounds like he’s trying not to freak out. Which in and of itself is pretty worrying.  “Okay. You need to calm down.”

 

Andrew blinks and turns to look at him. “I am calm.”

 

The scariest thing is: he actually sounds calm now. His eyes are dry, he’s straightened up and his voice is even. Except he’s still just glowing brighter and brighter.

 

He turns to look at Midnighter. “Open a Door for me. To Infinity Island.”

 

M hesitates. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

 

Apollo shrugs and crosses his arms. “If you don’t open the Door, I’ll just fly there myself. Should take about five minutes.”

 

M grits his teeth. “Door. You’ll regret this later, babe.”

 

Apollo’s face softens ever so slightly when he looks at M. “I know. But, they need to burn.” He steps through the Door which closes behind him.  

 

Jason stares at the spot in the air where the door disappeared. He looks at M, eyes wide. “What’s he gonna do?”

 

M shrugs. “Blow off a little steam.” He puts his head in his hands. “We just lost our element of surprise by the way.”

 

 

 

 

Bruce comes home to find Damian doing his homework at the dining room table while also, somewhat beligerantly but apparently very effectively, helping Duke with him chemistry equations. It fill Bruce’s chest with such a rush of warmth  to see his family acting like a family that he almost has to sit down.

 

It’s so rare to find Damian spending time in shared areas without being forced to. He hopes this means his youngest has finally started coming out of his shell and trusting that they love and support him.

 

He knew having Dick visit more often would be a good idea.

 

He heads down to the batcave to find Tim in deep conversation with Barbara Gordon. She’s always been a mentor to him and Bruce is happy to see the two of them looking so happy as they argue about tracking technology and the limitations of satellites.

 

He waves to the pair of them and heads over to his own files. He’s just started to really concentrate on the happy work of cracking the Riddler’s latest cipher that he’s almost taken by surprise when his Justice League communicator goes off.

 

“Batman? Where are you?” It’s Green lantern, the current member on monitor duty.

 

“The Cave. What’s the situation? I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

 

“It’s not an emergency response situation it’s just…Al Ghul Island in the pacific has just…I’m not sure if that’s an im- or an ex- plode but it’s destroyed and there’s fire and I wasn’t sure where you were and whether you did it or it was being done _to_ you and-“

 

“Shut up Kyle.”  Batman growls. “I’ll look into it. B out.”

 

He glances around the cave and his stomach plummets down to his toes.

 

He stands up from the desk and walks with deliberate slowness over to the safe where he insists Jason leave his guns if he’s going to be at the manor. He knows what he’s going to find, but his heart still stalls when he sees it’s empty.

 

“TIM! Where is your BROTHER?! _Where’s Jason?!_ ”

 

Tim turns and freezes like a deer in the headlights

 

 “How would I know?” Tim replies with a voice two octaves higher than usual.

 

 

 

 

Bruce isn't sure whether to be relieved or alarmed when he gets to Infinity Island and finds only a smouldering wreck that’s mostly underwater.

 

Whatever did this, it sure wasn’t Jason, and it probably wasn’t even someone Jason _knows_. Not even Koriand’r, the most powerful known associate of the Red Hood, could level an island quite like this.

 

He lands on what remains of the surface. There are large stretches of what appear to be volcanic glass. Except there’s no way seismic activity on this scale should even be _possible_ here. But, then again it’s the Al Ghuls and Lazarus pits and things beyond mortal comprehension _so who the hell knows_.

 

Batman scowls and kicks a rock.

 

“So, what do you think?”

 

He looks up and is disappointed to see Wonder Woman and Superman hovering in the air above him.

 

He shrugs. “Seismic activity. It looks like a volcanic eruption but the debris field and the lava flow are all wrong for it to be naturally occurring.”

 

Superman and Wonderwoman alight next to him. Bruce scowls. “I wouldn’t have thought an event like this would warrant the attention of all three of us. Especially considering the forces the Al Ghuls tend to meddle with.”

 

Superman ignored him and has the farway look in his eye that means he’s scanning the area with his x-ray vision. Wonder Woman stands with her hip cocked and one hand on the lasso of truth, surveying the scene with that wrinkle in her forehead that means she’s already got a pretty good idea of what is going on but is hoping she’s wrong.

 

She used to make that face at him all the time when he used to show up to crime scenes/word ending battles with Jason in tow.

 

“The Al Ghuls are already waging war on you.” She points out ot Bruce. “A blow like this could tip this conflict into a greater scale.”

 

Batman scowls. “Talia is pursuing her vendetta against me through Leviathan, her own organization. She’s not using the League’s resources.”

 

Wonder Woman flicks her hand at the smoke and steam. “So what is your guess for what caused this?”

 

Batman swallows. “Metahuman.” He admits. That or some sort of seismic tech. But, it doesn’t even match with man-made seismic activity. The pattern of destruction almost looks like…well, like what Clark might do if he had a really bad day. Only with more fire. And Clark would never let his anger get the better of him like this.

 

He grits his teeth. “Jason’s missing too.” He adds. 

 

Diana’s glance is scathing. She’s always been fond of Jason, and she never approved of the practice of young sidekicks, even if she has come around to the fact that they are an inescapable reality. Still, her ward Donna Troy never saw battle till she hit eighteen, and Cassie Sandsmark wears WonderGirl over Diana’s objections.

 

She huffs. “You think it’s connected.”

 

“This was Talia’s Island. Talia was the one who brought him back. It seems likely that the two would be linked.”

 

Diana hums and scuffs a boot across the charred rock. “Maybe she sent him a distress signal. Despite your enmity Jason is a loyal boy, he wouldn’t abandon someone who had helped him.”

 

“You think someone is striking out against Leviathan?”

 

“I think that Jason is not capable of this.” She waves at the destruction all around him. “And if Talia had captured him it would not have been quiet. If follows a third party must be in play.”

 

 

 

 

 

“So, there will be ninjas this time right?” M asks impatiently as Jason guides the plane down to land. “Cause there was a real lack of ninjas at the last place and killing ninjas has always been a dream of mine. It’s on the bucket list.”

 

“It is.” Apollo confirms from where he’s leaning against M’s shoulder, looking half-asleep. “It’s near the top, too.”

 

Both Dick and Jason shoot M an alarmed look. M laughs.

 

Jason huffs. “The point is to get in without fighting the ninjas!”

 

M pouts. “Sure, fine, whatever you say.”

 

Dick turns away to hide his smile, but completely fails. Prick.

 

 

 

Jason goes in to pretend that he wants to meet with Talia and despite himself his heart does a little leap when he sees her. Until very recently Talia had only ever helped him. She’d been the one to resurrect him and she’d been the one to bankroll him years later when he broke with Bruce and took a more direct approach to crime fighting.

 

For a second Jason thinks that maybe she’ll actually listen to him the way she always used to, but then his heart sinks as he remembers: it doesn’t matter whether or not Talia is willing to see reason. He isn’t here to parley. He’s here on a rescue mission with a ragtag group of enhanced assassins who have no intention of playing nice.

 

Talia notices the change in his expression and smiles. She makes a gesture and her guards draw their weapons.

 

Jason puts his hands on his guns. 

 

“Now, none of that my dear.” Talia coos. “You know I’ve always cared for you, Jason. I’d hate to see you die.”

 

“Well, I’d hate to die again, Talia.” Jason answers “But, I can’t just let you keep doing what you’re doing.”

 

Talia sighs, pretty, put upon and heartless. “Then you, much like the Detective, leave me no choice.”

 

 

 

They end up fighting the ninjas.

 

M is swinging a crowbar at people's heads with a level of glee that frankly very disconcerting. 

 

Dick has disappeared in the melee presumably having slunk away from the fight in search of the trial/killing machine they actual came here for

 

Apollo, apparently happy to do as he’s told so long as it’s something he wants to do, is hanging back in reserve in case they need to throw all caution to the wind and bulldoze through the place.

 

Jason spins, and starts shooting. Talia's looks annoyed that they're cutting through her troops so easily. She clicks her tongue and gestures with one hand. 

 

A door opens behind her, and bingo. There he is. Damian’s clone, the one they call “Heretic” for murky uncomplimentary reasons. The one who, rumour has it, was gestated in the corpse of a whale and can’t be killed by human hands.

Jason was not really prepared for Heretic. He knew about him, of course and he’d seen the aftermath of the battles the clone had fought. He’d known Damian’s clone was big, but he had not apparently been able to wrap his mind around just how big 7’5” really is.

It’s really freakin’ big.

 

 And then Heretic starts fighting.

 

Heretic swings an arm like a tree trunk wielding a huge sword, and tries to take out M, who dodges, laughing. Because he’s a maniac. Not that that’s news.

 

Heretic swings again and the rythym of the fight picks up. Neither of them land a blow, until suddenly Heretic drops the sword and backhands M clear across the room.

 

M picks himself up and chuckles, wiping blood off his mouth. “You think you can win this fight? I fought this fight a million times the second you swung that sword! I’m the Midnighter and you’ve already lost.”

 

“You’re stupid!” The Clone shouts lurching forward.

 

Midnighter is ready this time. He steps out of the way, twists, and uses Heretic’s huge size and momentum against him, throwing him across the room head first. He moves with impossible speed and is next to the huge crumpled body by the time Jason blinks. He grabs Heretic, hauls him up and then smashes his crowbar down on the helmet.

 

There's an ugly breaking sound as the mask shatters (well hopefully the mask) and the huge clone curls up with a whimper.

 

Jason turns to look at Talia. Her face is contorted in rage and disgust.

 

He hesitates caught between running for the (possibly) injured clone, the whole reason they even came here, and attacking Talia now that she’s so wide open.

 

“Mother!” A voice calls, plaintive and desperate and somehow childlike despite the fact that it’s an octave deeper than Jason’s own. “It hurts! _Why does it hurt?!_ ”

 

Jason turns to look and Heretic is scrambling away from Midnighter with bloody hands clutching his face.

 

If Talia was angry before she is FURIOUS now. She draws her own sword and Jason can’t fight the urge to step away from her. Jason's never seen her use the sword she carries, but he doesn't need to. 

 

Talia is the Daughter of the Demon, his most favoured child. She has foot soldiers beyond legion at her beck and call, but Ra’s would never allow her to wield any weapon with anything less than perfect skill.

 

 

“You will address me as Lady Talia.” She growls. “And that is twice you’ve been defeated.” She flicks her blade lazily. “There will not be a third.”

 

Jason swallows and steps forward to block her path. “I can’t let you do that Talia.”

 

She smiles at him. “He’s a killer, Jason. All he’s done since he first drew breath has been to inflict pain and death on others. Isn't that what you despise most? The strong who prey on the weak? It will be no great loss. There are a dozen others who may take his place.”

 

Jason hears Dick’s voice somewhere behind him. He’s reemerged from his infiltration of the private rooms on Talia’s base. “ _Are you hurt? Please take your hands away from your face so I can see if you’re hurt...”_

 

“What about Damian?” Jason asks quietly, because he knows, _he knows_ more than Bruce or Ra’s or Damian himself: Talia adores her son. She loves him selfishly and violently but Jason’s never doubted that it was love. “You didn’t manage to replace him. Not in the ways that matter.”

 

Talia turn freezes and turns to stare at him. “Is that what you came here to offer?” she asks, a little desperately maybe, but probably more hopeful than anything else. “Will you trade peace for my son?”

 

“Sons are born to die in war.” A voice rasps from the back of the room. It’s so unexpected that everyone turns. The clone struggles to his feet using the wall and his bloody hands are away from his face, and it’s-

 

It’s not the face of a man. But it’s not the face of a child either. Or maybe it is, maybe it’s the absolutely ordinary face of a child, _maybe it's Damian face_ ,  but the head and the neck are those of a man, and together it all just looks...wrong.

 

Not just wrong. Grotesque, sick.

 

Dick is hovering next to him, hand out but not touching. “Please, honey, sit back down, Midnighter might have cracked your skull, you probably have a concussion.”

 

Talia sneers. “My son was never born to die in war. You were.”

 

Jason curses, she’d taken the opportunity to slip past him while he was distracted. He clicks the safety off his guns. “Talia!” he shouts.

 

Heretic makes a noise that might be a scream of outrage or a howl of heartbreak but either way it’s horrible to listen to, he shoves Dick aside and is about to charge at his Mother barehanded and she’s got a _sword_ -

 

Jason knows exactly what’s about to happen and he can’t look away. He doesn’t want to watch Talia do this but-

 

 

 

There’s a blurr of light and suddenly Apollo is there, and he’s standing in front of Heretic, one arm up blocking the sword. “No.” He tells her softly. “You don’t get to hurt him anymore.”

 

Midnighter cackles in delight somewhere, and then the sword clangs as it’s thrown into the far corner of the room.

 

The next thing Jason knows Apollo is holding Talia off the ground with one hand. He tilts his head slowly as if considering her. “Lady Talia, you made a very big mistake,” He tells her quietly. “You got my attention.” The hands he’s holding her with suddenly flashes bright gold, there’s the smell of burning and Talia screams as he drops her in a heap at his feet.

 

Apollo turns and points at Jason. “Get them out of here!” Behind him Talia staggers to her feet and draws a green knife.  Jason yells a warning too late. It’s kryptonite. She stabs him in the chest. The green crystal breaks.

 

Apollo frowns and looks down at the shards. “Now what was that supposed to do, huh?” He bats her away from him and Jason feels sick. This isn’t a fight anymore. It’s a cat with a mouse. Letting it go just enough to chase but never far enough it can’t grab it again.

 

M grabs him by the shoulder and shoves him towards the door. “Get out of here, kid. The next bit won’t be so pretty. Don’t wait for us.” There’s blood on his face that he hasn’t wiped off. 

  
Jason nods and backs away.

Dick has already disappeared apparently with the Heretic in tow. Jason wonders if the kid/toddler/murder weapon had fled in tears after hearing what his mother really thought of him.

 

Jason catches up to them just outside the plane. Dick is trying to take care of the nasty gashes the broken helmet had left in Heretic’s face. He’s draped a shock blanket over the...for lack of a better word, kid and distracted him with a box of apple juice which the born killer is drinking with all signs of complete enjoyment.

 

Dick shoots Jason a worried look over his shoulder and mouths “Talia?”

 

Jason widens his eyes and shakes his head minutely. “Let’s get out of here. The other’s will find their own way home.”

 

 

 

 

 

Bruce and Tim get to Talia’s base much too late. Whoever hit her has already gotten in and back out. Her servants have fled.

 

There are surprisingly few bodies, and they’re only in the great hall. Whoever killed the Leviathan didn’t have to fight their way in.

 

There’s no sign of Talia, though a set of foot prints melted into the floor suggests that the culprit from Infinity Island was at work here, too.

 

Most of the soldiers were killed with one hit. A few died creative and bloody deaths. There’s a patch of blood on the floor that doesn’t match any of the bodies and a scorch mark on the wall behind Talia's overturned chair on the dais. 

 

Bruce hopes someone got away.

 

There’s no sign of Talia or the clone. The whole place is empty.

 

Tim turns to look at him. “She might still be alive, Bruce.”

 

Talia had to have gotten out. She was _Talia_. She’d raised Damian and been raised by Ra’s Al Ghul. She was mistress of Leviathan. She was Kali. Medusa, and Lilith all rolled into one.

 

She couldn’t just die in some ambush set by people who didn't even know her.    


Bruce shakes his head. “They came for her, and if they knew anything about the Al Ghuls they’ll have destroyed the body.”

 

Tim swallows, and looks around jerkily. “We need to get home. We need to get home _now_.”

 

Bruce turns to face him. “Why?”

 

“Because Ra’s Al Ghul’s daughter was just murdered, her organization destroyed by the loss of it’s leader, his reputation is threatened by that and his grandson is _alone in the house with Duke and Agent A_.”

 

Bruce blinks. “You think he’ll come for Damian right away?”

 

“I think Ra’s has never been happy letting someone else hold his toys.”

 

Batman whirls around and sprints back towards for his plane. “Document the scene!" He shouts over his shoulder.  "Call me if you find anything that we can use.”

 

 

 

 

Damian is sitting in his room trying to beat the latest level on ‘Cheese Viking’ when a gold square opens up in reality and a man in a long black leather coat and a stupid hair cut steps through.

 

He holds out his hand. “Hey kid, Dick sent me. You wanna meet your twin?”

 

Damian frowns and clutches his phone tighter. “How do I really know Dick sent you?”

 

The man huffs out a very dramatic sigh. “Because....he’d do anything for you.”

 

Damian doesn’t relax. “Like what?” he asks suspiciously.

 

M let’s out another over dramatic sigh and rhymes the list off without a hint of inflection in his voice. “He’d wear a daffodil, climb a hill, fight a guy named Bill.”

 

Damian swallows and tosses his phone aside. “Close enough.” He reaches under his bed and pulls out a ‘go’ bag he’d packed his first night here. “Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I ended up reading big chunk of the Authority trying to nail down Apollo's powers (I do love his power move of 'I'm tired of fighting you so I'm just gonna incinerate anyone within five feet of me, it's swell). Also, I'm very much leaning into the idea that he is as powerful as Superman, because I just... like it. 
> 
> Also, I'm terrible at writing fight scenes, so sorry about that. 
> 
> Also, I was originally going to include ALL of Damian's monstrous clones but then I realized in canon they were only made after both Heretic and Damian are killed so I decided not to. Plus there are only so many characters I can handle at any given moment. But, know I love them and they deserved better. 
> 
> Sorry for the long author's note as well. Anyway, thanks for keeping up with the story despite this little detour, and I hope you all like it! We're in the home stretch now.


	13. Keep Trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian struggles with the aftermath of what's happened. Tim worries.

Damian ducks through the doorway into a wide minimalist space. Jason is lounging on the couch in full battle gear, fiddling with a gun. His face when he glances at Damian is wide open and unguarded. Damian doesn’t know what to make of that.

 

Dick is perched on the couch across from Jason next to a huge figure that lurches to his feet at the sight of Damian.

 

“YOU!” the stranger shouts. “She loved YOU!” He lunges for Damian and Damian only has enough time to register the oddness of his face before dodging. “SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE LOVED _YOU_! I’m _BETTER_!”

 

Damian dances away and then M steps between him and the monster. Well, not a monster. No more a monster than Damian. It’s his twin brother after all. Or his clone. Mother liked to lie, either could be true.  

 

“Hey!” M barks. “None of that or I’ll give you another taste!” he raises a fist in warning. “Wanna hurt again Heretic?”  
 

Dick has jumped to his feet and puts his hands on Heretic’s shoulders herding him back to the couch.

 

“She shouldn’t have loved you.” Heretic repeats. “You’re weak, and a coward. You’re nothing like the heir of the Demon is supposed to be.”  He spits over his shoulder.

 

Damian knows he must look stricken.

 

“That’s a bit harsh, Harry.” Jason quips from the couch, performing some small trick with his gun, and looking rather wretched. Especially for him. As far as Damian had been aware Jason only experiences two emotions: Rage and Snide Judgement. He looked almost sad now.

 

“It’s not harsh!” The clone insists.

 

Dick gets the clone to sit back down and then sends M a desperate look. “Can you handle this? I need to talk to Damian.”

 

M waves them off.

 

The room they go into is very strange, white slightly transluscent walls emitting a soft even glow and a bed in the centre with no blankets or pillows.

 

“It’s Apollo’s room.” Dick explains in response to Damians questioning look. He taps the wall. “Artificial sunlight.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Dick sits down on the bed and looks at Damian with infuriating gentleness. “Listen, Robin, there’s something I need to-“

 

“Spare your speeches Dick. I know. Mother is dead.”

 

Dick swallows and then nods. “I have been assured so, yes.”

 

Damian blinks several times. He waits to feel the loss. It doesn’t come. He doesn’t feel any different. He’s not numb. He’s anxious about the clone, and tentatively hopeful to see Dick, and half-way terrified of how his Father will react when he discovers Damian has disappeared again, to say nothing of how he might react should the dark day ever come that he finds out this little mission had been undertaken with Damian’s blessing.

 

But, for Talia? For his mother who had raised him and by turns adored, mistreated and despised him? He just feels exhausted at the thought of her.

 

“How did it happen?” he asks. She would have put up one hell of a fight, he knew that. He almost wishes he’d been there to see it- she always fought so beautifully and Grayson and M both had a deadly grace of their own that might have matched her. They would have been worthy opponents and the final battle must have been a glory to behold. It would have been what she would want, he thinks, for him to have seen her fight till the end.

 

He’ll never see her fight again. He’ll never see _her_ again.

 

Strangely, it’s not the idea of never seeing her again, but the idea of never seeing her fight that prompts the first real pang of emotion. He’d always liked to watch her fight, she was so skilled and so confident. They’d duelled every year on his birthday until the year he’d turned ten and finally bested her.

 

He’d believed that at the time. Now he suspects she may have let him win, in order to send him to a secure location without breaking her word about when he would meet his father.

 

He waits for Dick to tell him but his brother just opens and closes his mouth.

 

A terrible thought occurs to Damian. “Was it you?!”

 

Dick just stares at him helplessly.

 

“ALL your talk about violence and weapons and how she was wrong and you just hated her so much you lied and-“

 

“Dick had nothing to do with it.” A voice cuts in. Damian whirls around to see a young man in a white jumpsuit with a yellow triangle across the shoulders leaning against the doorway. “I was the one who killed her Damian. Dick had nothing to do with it.”

 

Damian sniffs and steps away from Dick. He hadn’t realized he’d grabbed the front of his shirt or that he’d gotten so close.

 

“Did she die honourably in combat against a worthy opponent, as befits the daughter of the demon?”

 

The young man, Apollo, based on the sun, and the fact that they’re in his room after all, just raises an eyebrow. “You can’t really... _fight_ me. It’s just...not humanly possible. Even M probably couldn’t do it straight on. I mean I could literally kill you now before you could move just by looking at you?”

 

“So, she didn’t die fighting in a great and terrible battle?”

 

“She didn’t give up? I wouldn’t call it a fight, though. I just killed her. It was easy and...relatively quick. Quicker than Midnighter would have done if it were up to him.”

 

Damian hunches against his own grief. For her to just _...die_. That is terrible. That is wrong. She was Talia al Ghul she couldn’t be killed as though it were nothing.

 

“Why?” Damian gasps.

 

“Why, what?”

 

“Why did you kill her? She was nothing to you! You don’t even know me! You barely even know Dick! You didn’t have to get involved!”

 

“Dami-“ Dick tries to interject reaching for Damian, but Damian sidesteps him.

 

“ _Why?_ ” Damian repeats.

 

Apollo looks at him, and then shrugs. “Because if I didn’t kill her it wouldn’t be a choice that had anything to do with her. It would just be me letting her live because I didn’t want to be the person that killed her. I couldn’t choose to let her live, knowing what she’d done and what she was capable of. In my experience the chance for redemption isn’t always worth the risk. I’m sorry you’re hurt but I won’t apologize that I killed her.”

 

Damian sneers. “You’re a monster.”

 

“Maybe. But no more than either of you, and less than she was. That’s for sure.”

 

“Shut Up! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

 

“Okay.” Apollo gives a little wave and leaves the room.

 

Damian just stands there hugging himself and trying to breathe. He’s sad, he realizes, but not really because Talia is dead. He is grieved that this was where it had had to end. Mother had seemed to be everything good in the world to him at one point though that had turned out to be because she wouldn’t let anything or anyone near him who might threaten her place in his life.

 

He is sad because Heretic hates him for being loved, when that love had never really done him any good. He is sad because a part of him has always believed those things Heretic had said: he is weak and cowardly for giving up on his parents’ legacies.

 

He is sad because Dick had had to choose to be an assassin again to keep Damian safe, and because his Father will blame him for making that choice.

 

Damian wishes things could have been different with Talia. He wishes he could believe his mother didn’t love him, or that if she’d understood she wouldn’t have minded what he’d become. It doesn’t matter. She’s dead now. Nothing will change that.

 

Damian moves decisively. The living room is empty. No sign of Apollo or the Clone.

 

Damian looks up at M who is eating olives out of a jar at the kitchen island. “Where’s my brother? I need to tell him something.”

 

M looks down on him and jerks his head towards a side door. “Apollo’s keeping an eye on him. He’ll step in if it looks like he’s gonna take another swing at ya.”

 

Damian nods. “Apollo killed my mother.”

 

“Yep. I was surprised. He hasn’t killed anyone in years.”

 

Damian glanced at Midnighter. “So why her?”

 

M shrugs. “He finally decided to throw his hat in the ring and take my very excellent advice and stop letting the world go to shit? Just thinkin’ out loud here.”

 

“Don’t say that! She was my mother.”

 

M laughs. “That doesn’t mean shit. You should have Apollo and me tell you about _our_ mothers one of these days.”

 

Damian glares at him and then opens the door to the side room. It looks like a modern reinterpretation of a study. A desk, some books and a comfortable chair. Heretic was sitting on the floor with a blanket over his shoulders eating a package of those gross grocery store mini-cupcakes with the icing that tasted like powder and the weird crunchy sprinkles that don’t taste like anything at all.

 

He looks up sharply when Damian walks in and then glances immediately at Apollo who is sitting in the chair pretending to read. Apollo raises an eyebrow at the clone as though saying he was free to try killing Damian but they both knew how that was going to turn out.

 

All the same Damian did his best to stand just outside of Heretic’s reach. Or as near as he could judge. With such long arms it was difficult to make an accurate guess.

 

The clone glares at him.

 

Damian clears his throat. “I’m not sure if they’ve informed you, but Mother is-.”

 

“Not my mother!” Heretic interrupts pointedly. “My mother was a whale.”

 

Damian blinks. “What-?!”

 

“Mother- uh....Lady Talia didn’t want to be my mother anymore. She said the whale that gestated me was more my Mother than she ever was.”  Heretic explains.

 

“Well that’s just biologically untrue.” Damain blurts out. “It’s one thing to deny her parentage of you due to the fact that you were somewhat of a disappointment. Grandfather does that all the time, but I don’t see why she had to involve some innocent cetacean who no doubt had already suffered enough before having a foreign organism implanted and gestated within it against it’s will.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” The clone admits sulkily.

 

“Never mind. I came here to tell you that Lady Talia is dead.”

 

“Mother is dead?!” the clone wails

 

Damian waves in Apollo’s general direction. “That yellow-haired shit killed her.”

 

Heretic’s head whipped round to stare at Apollo, who stares back like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He looks between  Damian and the sun god and then seems to choose the third option by turning back to his little cupcakes. He hunches over them like the child in an overgrown body that he was.

  
“So what?” he mumbles.

 

“So, I thought you should be informed.” Damian told him primly.

 

“I don’t care. She wasn’t my mother. My mother was a whale.” Heretic repeats.   


“Yes, you’ve said. It’s biologically impossible and objectively untrue. Even if you were gestated in the beast, which is an absolutely ridiculous scheme not to mention needlessly cruel and ecologically wasteful, by that logic if your mother was a whale than mine was a glass tank. Lady Talia was our Mother, that is simply biological fact, and now she is dead.”  

 

Heretic keeps staring at his cupcakes, Damian could see the tears hanging unshed in his eyes.

 

“She loved you. She never loved me. Even though I’m stronger and bigger and better and _I_ loved _her_. You’re just a weak coward who hated her. Why would she love you?” Heretic all but whispers.

 

“If I’m a coward than so are you!” Damian snaps. “I only ran away! You ran away and left her to die!”

 

The clone reaches up and touches the bandage on his face. “It hurt.” He explains in a very small voice. “It wasn’t supposed to hurt and she was mad at me. I hate it when she’s mad at me. She had her sword out. She only draws her sword to kill.” The clone’s voice breaks. “I lost the fight with the one in black-“

 

“Midnighter.” Damian supplies gently.

 

Heretic nods. “I lost and- you’re right. I’m a coward.” He wipes at the fat tears that start running down his cheeks. “Sons are born to die in war. Come back with your shield or on it. Victory or death. I am a coward. You’re right!”

 

Damian inches closer and put one hand on his brother’s massive shoulder. With Damian standing and Heretic sitting on the floor his younger twin is still taller than him. “You’re not a coward. Our Mother wasn’t... she would just have hurt you again. You were right to go with Dick.”

 

Heretic sniffs and clutches his plastic container of cupcakes. “Dick is sparkly, and very nice. He gave me cupcakes. They’re the nicest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

 

Damian sits down in the shadow of his giant twin and leans over to take a closer look at the cupcakes. They’re vanilla with different coloured icings. “Wait until you try the chocolate ones. They’re...well, they’re very good.”

 

Heretic jerks the package away from him. “These are MINE! He gave them to _me_!”

 

Damian scrambles back, still wary of the monster. “Of course! I don’t even like them! Dick will get me something else.”

 

Heretic gasps in outrage.

 

He and Damian watch each other warily from a safe distance. Damian wonders if Heretic found it as disconcerting as he did to see his own face on top of such a distorted body.

 

Heretic blinks and looks away. “He already likes you better doesn’t he?” he asks in a small voice, sounding wretched. “I hate you. I HATE YOU! WHY DO YOU GET EVERYTHING?! IT’S NOT FAIR!!”

 

Damian swallows, and scootches a little closer. He consciously tries to keep his breathing even by reminding himself that Apollo was just over there in the corner. He wouldn’t let Damian be hurt (but how fast can he move if Heretic decides to destroy him?)

 

“I don’t get everything.” Damian tells him softly. “I’m so little, like you said. You get to be tall. You’re taller than Father. As tall as I imagined he’d be before i met him.”

 

“You’ve met Fa-...You’ve met the Batman? And he’s short?!!”

 

Damian nods. “Shorter than you’d expect. Definitely shorter than you.”

 

Heretic lapses into silence and pops one of the cupcakes into his mouth whole and chews.

 

Damian makes small noise. Heretic glares at him. “What?!”

 

“They’re better if you take the little paper off the bottom.” He mimes what he means for his brother, who frowns and with a surprising amount of difficulty manages to use his massive fingers to peel the wrapper off of one. His hands are shaking by the time he finishes the manoeuvre. Damian blinks as he considers that, but then from what he’s heard Mother had only ever used him as an instrument of brute force. His stomach drops as he considers all the little childish things no one would have ever thought to tell someone who, with his childish face hidden by that awful mask, looked like a terrifying full grown adult man.

 

Did his brother know how to read? Certainly no one would have ever read him a bed time story. Judging by his devotion to those awful cupcakes no one had ever slipped him a little treat of any kind,

 

“I’m sorry.” Damian tells him.

 

Heretic looks at him still chewing his cupcake. “Why? It is better without the bit at the bottom.”

 

Damian takes a deep shaky breath. “I’m sorry she hurt you so much because of me.” He wraps his arms around his knees. “All the ways she hurt you were just ways she wanted to hurt me. If I hadn’t run away she wouldn’t have done that to you.”

 

Heretic picks up another cupcake and tries to take the wrapper off. This time he only succeeds in mashing the cupcake into his other hand. He snarls in frustration and flicks the mess away.

 

Damian holds out his hand. “Here. I’ll do it for you. I promise to give it back.”

 

Warily Heretic drops a fresh cupcake into Damian’s hand and Damian very carefully pulls the paper wrapper off before handing it back.

 

Heretic glares at him. “I still hate you. I’ll always hate you.” He tells him with his mouth full.

 

Damian sighs. “That’s okay. I’d hate me too, if I were you...but...I love you. You’re...me. Or I could have been you. It could have the other way around very easily.”

 

Heretic continues glaring at him. He glances down at the cupcake package and nudges it towards Damian. “T-t. Unwrap another one for me.”

 

Damian rolls his eyes, but he unwraps another one and carefully hands it to his brother.

 

 

 

Jason is waiting for him when steps back into the living room.

 

“She loved you more than anything.” He tells Damian, a comforting hand on the shoulder. “I don’t know if knowing that will help but...she did.”

 

Damian brushes the hand off. “She never loved me.” And when he says it the words feel true. “She loved her own idea of me. Same as her and father. She never loved him either, only the idea of him. She only loved the idea, and whenever either of us were different from that- Were different from the stupid story she had in her head of who we were supposed to be... she hated us for not being that imaginary person that she loved so much.”

 

He looks up at his older brother. “Thank you for helping them. I know you cared about her and it must have hurt you to betray her...so, thank you.”

 

Jason presses his lips together and looks away. “It needed to be done.” He snifles and wipes then his nose with the back of his hands.

 

M stands up from the couch. “Ready to go?”

 

Jason nods.

 

“Door.”

 

Jason draws his pistols and kisses them as he walks backwards through the door. “You know where to find me. Peace out hombres.”

 

Damian tilts his head in confusion.

 

“He’s a weird guy.” M remarks.   
  
“Mother brought him back from the dead because she thought it might make Father love her.” Damian explains.

 

“Ah. Well, I like him, anyways. He’s pretty good in a fight, for a standard issue human being.”

 

“Yes. I suppose so.”

 

 

 

Dick gets up off the couch. “Hey Dami. What do you want to do now?”

 

Dick isn’t like everyone else. Damian reminds himself. It’s safe to be weak with him. Damain wanders over and leans against Dick’s side.

 

“I want to go home. Please? Just for a bit?”

 

Dick nods and puts an arm around him, pulling Damian close. “I’ll get M to call a door and you’ll be back in Gotham-“

 

“No! I want to go home! Our home. The apartment.”

 

“Oh. Oh. Of course.  Anything you like Damian.”

 

“I’ll stop by tomorrow to pick you up.” Midnighter informs them. “We still need to work out what to do with the Clone. Door.”

 

Dick and Damian step through the glowing rectangle in the air and for the first time in what feels like a very long time they’re back home, and they’re together.

 

Damian looks around and frowns in disappointment. It feels different to be home than he thought it would.

 

The apartment doesn’t feel as comforting and safe as it used to. There were things that had been disturbed that Richard had not bothered to set right. Not to mention both Titus and Alfred were still in Gotham.

 

Damian’s eyes burn from exhaustion but he finds himself in the familiar position of tossing and turning as he stared at the ceiling. All his little comforts had been removed by Dick and sent on to Gotham.

 

He can’t sleep. He feels hollow, and worn out. He’s exhausted and he feels his eyes prickle in frustration. He just wants to sleep.

 

After a long while he gets up and wanders into the living room. Sometimes, he can sleep on the couch even when he can’t manage it in his own room. He lays down but from this vantage point all the differences are so obvious. The electronics are in disarray. There are bags that Dick never unpacked from when they were intending to flee sitting half open with their contents scattered across the floor from where Dick had no doubt rooted through them in search of something to use during the assault on the Al Ghul strongholds.

 

Damian finds himself staring at the light under Dick’s door.

 

Dick doesn’t sleep. Or rather he sleeps in the same way he eats: very rarely and in tiny amounts.

 

Damian reminds himself that it’s alright. He’s home.

 

He gets up and carefully opens Dick’s door. He’s sitting at his makeup table fiddling with an eyeliner. He turns when Damain steps in.

 

“Hey, little bird. Can’t sleep?”

 

Damian shakes his head.

 

“Wanna stay in here with me? Might as well be awake together.”

 

Damian nods and scrambles up onto Dick’s bed. Unlike the other parts of the apartment nothing much has changed in here, and why would it? Dick hadn’t gone anywhere. His bed remained piled precariously high with pillows and blankets which he tended to lounge on rather than sleep under. The inane inspirational quotations still hung in pride of place and Dick’s extensive cosmetics collection continued to expand to occupy more and more space.

 

Damian let’s out a long breath and feels himself relax for the first time in a long time.

 

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out.   
  
Dick whirls around in surprise and then pokes himself in the eye with his eyeliner. “Wha-“

  
“I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I shouldn’t have left you behind. It wasn’t your fault. I just...”

 

“You’ve already told me this Damian.”

 

“I’m telling you again! Because it was stupid and cruel to both of us and i just-“

 

Dick gets up and sits down next to Damian on the bed. “It’s okay. You should lie down, and try to sleep. You look exhausted.”

 

“No! I need to say this! You care about me! You care about actual me! Not who I might become or how you can use me or what you think I should be! Me! And I just...I threw it back in your face and Father didn’t even think I should come to Gotham without you, he assumed you would come with me but I knew you wouldn’t feel safe there and I care about you, and...”

 

Dick wraps him arms around Damian and pulls him close. “You look after me.” Damian admits to Dick’s sternum. “No one else ever has. They just taught me to look after myself.”

 

“You look after me as well, Damian. Don’t forget that.”

 

They stay like that for a long time. Damian’s breath hitches. “My mother is dead.”

 

“Mine too. I’m sorry. It sucks.”  Another long moment passes. “You should try and get some sleep, Robin.”

 

Damian nods and allows Dick to tuck him in. He’s too old for it. He’s starting to suspect that his development is all jumbled - ahead in certain areas, behind in others. Just like Heretic.

 

He lies there and watches through half closed eyes as Dick cleans the ruined eyeliner off his face. He thinks his mother used to do her makeup a bit like that.

 

He’s not sure if he’d ever seen her without it. To his surprise he finds himself sniffling. Dick looks over his shoulder at him and Damian curls up and covers his face, ashamed. He shouldn’t be mourning a woman who had tormented him and countless others.

 

He doesn’t even miss her. The more he thinks about it the more relieved he is that he will never have to fear her sudden reappearance in his life. He’ll never have to hide from her again and he is so happy about that because hiding and being afraid had been so exhausting.

 

But she’s worn kohl around her eyes and a jasmine perfume and before he’d known Richard every gentle touch he’d ever received had been from her.

 

It makes Damian sad to think how little he’d known of care or kindness before he’d met Richard. It makes him sadder to think how much less Heretic must know, being so much younger, brought to violence so much sooner and bearing so much of their mother’s disdain.

 

Dick crawls over and lies on top of the covers next to Damian. He strokes his back and hums a song that Damian knows has to do more with Dick’s own mother than with anything the assassin might have learned about lullabies from watching Supernanny or old musicals.

 

“You are my Sunshine” is not one of Richard’s favourite ditty’s containing none of the exhuberance he prefers and more melancholy than he usually willingly submits himself to. Damian suspects but has never had confirmation that it is a song Dick remembers from his own childhood.

 

“She was your mother Damian. You deserved better, but she was still your mother. It’s alright to be sad. Even if you’re only sad that she wasn’t a better mother.”  


“Father will be angry at me.” Damian hiccups through his tears.   


“Why? You didn’t have anything to do with it.”

 

“I gave you permission to do it.”

 

Dick just looks at him. “We’d have done it anyway.”

 

Damian shudders and looks away. “No, you wouldn’t have.”

 

Dick sighs. “Maybe not, but she had Apollo’s full attention. Not to mention Midnighter’s. They’d have gotten around to killing her one way or another.”

 

Damian can’t contain the sob that bursts out of him at that, or the image that comes to mind of his mother not dying proud and fighting, but beaten and broken and-

 

“It’s okay to be sad.” Dick repeats. “Even if she was a bitch who didn’t love you like she should.”

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes, Tim wishes he had the ability to emotionally detach from events surrounding him. He knows that’s maybe not the healthiest outlook, but he can’t help but feel that when it comes to personal crises he’d be so much more effective if he couldn’t force his mind to stop circling back to upsetting thoughts and focus on the matter at hand.

 

It wasn’t even about what had actually happened. He is well aware that the most likely sequence of events was Damian or Dick taking advantage of their distraction with the destruction of Talia’s Island to disappear. Again.

 

But, Bruce is frantic, mind filled with the last time someone had disappeared like this and what the result had been. Jason had died after all.

 

Logic tells Tim that none of Oracle’s intel on the mobilisation of the League of Assassins post Talia’s demise indicated that any action had been taken towards a covert infiltration of Wayne Manor, but it is hard to hold on to that in the face of everyone’s blind panic.

 

Tim taps out a rhythm on the desk as the computer runs an image search and tries to banish the scenario that was playing in his mind: Damian alone, scared, and unarmed. None of his things were missing. He’d left his dog behind, and that was the one point that had Bruce convinced Damian had been taken. He’d never leave Titus. Not willingly.

Bruce is so certain of it.

 

Tim’s not so sure. He knows a bit more of what Damian is capable of, even still with his fangs pulled and his claws sheathed. He was raised in the League of Shadows. He might not _want_ to leave the dog behind but if he thought he _had_ to. If he thought the dog would be _safer_ and better cared for in Gotham than wherever Damian had decided to run to-

 

There was the possibility that Damian had received some sort of signal from his mother, some sort of warning that someone was targeting the Al Ghuls.

 

Tim scrubs his hands across his eyes.

 

“You could sleep.”

 

Tim looks up at Duke who is giving all the intel Tim’s looked at already a second going over looking for patterns Tim might have missed. Duke gets along better with Damian, he probably knows more personal stuff about him. Maybe something will spark with something Damian had said and-

 

Who are they fooling? Batman is half-way convinced Damian is dead already. He’s supposed to be out shaking down the Gotham black market to see if anyone had supplied Damian with a new identity (again) or sold him a stolen car (again) but Tin suspects he’s really dropping crooks off buildings in the vain hope that it will calm him down.

 

It won’t. Tim remembers that well enough from that period where Jason was gone and Bruce felt he had...nothing.

 

Tim sniffs. “The first 72 hours after a disappearance are key. If you fail to find the victim within that time frame the odds of ever finding the victim alive diminish drastically.”

 

“Then why aren’t you freaking out looking for Jason?”

  
“Jason is a grown crime lord who took his body armour, his guns, his phone and his helmet when he left. There’s lots of reasons he would do that and all signs point to him leaving under his own power with the intention of avoiding drawing Batman’s attention. He’s probably handling the criminal empire we all like to pretend he doesn’t run.”

 

“And Damian is a minor with a history of abuse, whose grandfather has already tried to kill him, who left with nothing, right after his mother was murdered.” Duke finishes. “He has most likely been kidnapped.”

 

“That is the most likely scenario.”

 

“You think B’s right? You think there’s a new meta-group on scene?”

 

Tim shrugs.

 

“Do you think whoever has Damian will hurt him?”

 

Tim swallows and tries not to think about how the damned dog had been wandering around the mansion crying all day.

 

“That depends on what prompted the kidnapping- if it was a kidnapping.”

 

“You think it might not be?”

 

“I think it would be preferable for all of us if Damian went willingly, and of his own volition, because if that is the case then it is unlikely that he would go with anyone who would hurt him.”

  
Duke sits up a little straighter. “There were no signs of a struggle and Damian can fight.” He points out. “I’ve seen you guys almost come to blows over dinner sidedishes. There’s no way he’d let someone take him somewhere he doesn’t want to go without a fight.”

 

“There’s blackmail. Threats. Hostages.”

 

There’s a buzz and Alfred is speaking over the intercom. “Master Tim, it is with great relief that I inform you Master Jason has returned. He’s waiting for you in the south parlour.”

 

Tim takes a second to disable security and surveillance and heads right on up.

 

 

 

He grabs the daily paper from the hall table and stalks in. He winds up and smacks the back of Jason’s stupid head with it as hard as he can.

 

“What! In! The! Hell! Jason!” he hisses, punctuating with hits.

 

Jason ducks and scrambles away. “Jesus, Tim!”

 

Tim brandishes the rolled up paper and clambers over the couch in hot pursuit. “Where is Damian?” he asks. “This isn’t what we agreed to!”

 

Jason darts away. Tim feints and lands another hit.

 

“There were variables beyond my control!”

 

“Please tell me you have Damian.” Tim begs because Jason is a dumbass but he wouldn’t let anything bad happen would he?

 

Jason winces. “Well-“

 

Tim strikes.

 

“Dick has him!” Jason shouts. “He’s fine.”

 

Tim lowers the paper and steps back. “He didn’t take his stuff. There’s been no movement at the penthouse. No one’s been in or out in weeks.”

 

Jason rolls his eyes. “It’s Damian. You honestly think the kid doesn’t have a couple escape routes we don’t know about?”

 

Tim sighs and gestures with the paper. “Point.”  He collapses back onto the couch and rubs his forehead. “What happened with Talia?”

 

Jason warily sits back down on the couch, keeping a healthy distance from Tim. “The assassins that Dick found were....more powerful than I thought. Things got out of hand.”

 

Tim glares at him from between his fingers. “No shit.”

 

Jason holds up his hands. “I mean...I thought we were going in with you know, the meta-human equivalent of some nice high powered rifles, maybe a grenade launcher, but it turned out we had a nuclear bomb with a hair trigger and a faulty timer in the back seat and no one told me.”

 

Tim tries to untangle that metaphor. He’s doesn’t like it. “...the island was just one guy?”

 

Jason grimaces. “One very angry guy. Yeah.”

 

Tim blinks. “Talia is dead. But, Ra’s is very much alive. He’s not going to be happy someone killed his favourite daughter.”

 

Jason makes another face. “Yeah, that’s probably not going to be an issue for much longer. The League of Assassins caught the attention of a vengeful God, and they moved Damian out of the way so that Ra’s can’t hurt him. I’d say Ra’s days are numbered.”

 

Tim bites his lip. “Bruce is gonna go nuts.”

 

Jason slumps looking very defeated. “Forget Bruce, what do you think Clark and Diana are gonna do when they put this god damned mess together? You can’t tell me the Justice League isn’t gonna want to have a word with someone who is that powerful.”

 

Tim swallows. “The assassin who melted infinity island, he got somewhere to lie low?”

 

Jason shrugs. “Low enough to escape the Justice League? Maybe, maybe not.”

 

“Think he’d be willing to talk it out?”

 

Jason tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling. “They’re not really ‘talk it out’ kind of people. More ‘fuck it out or fight it out’”

 

“So....what are we gonna do now?”

 

“Hold hands a pray the Justice League and the Misfit Assassin Club don’t destroy the world if they ever run into each other?”

 

“God, you’re ridiculous. What we should do is try and explain things to Bruce. He could help.”

 

Jason can’t help but burst out laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're limping our way towards the end people! Probably only a few more chapters to go. Can't say when they will appear as my writing mojo seems to have wandered off. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this slice of Damian sadness. Comments as always are deeply deeply appreciated.


	14. Try Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone talks it out.

The Clone huffs and glares at Damian. They’re sitting together doing school work. Or the Heretic is doing assessment tests and Damian is working on an essay he’d been intending to submit for a course at Gotham U but which he was now finishing as more of a point of pride than anything else.

 

Getting an assessment Heretic was actually capable of completing had been semi-arduous. They had been operating under an assumption of an almost complete lack of any education for him, except for a possibly savant level affinity for higher maths, until Damian had come to an incredibly embarrassing and obvious conclusion: his brother could not read or write the Roman alphabet, _but_ that did not mean he could not read or write. Mother’s preferred language was Arabic and unlike Damian the Heretic had been educated for utility not for depth or greatness.

 

That had been a relief, though Heretic’s strength still obviously lay with numbers over words. As the only member of the household who spoke Arabic or read the Arabic alphabet and also the only member with much affinity for formal schooling, Damian had been elected to help Heretic.

 

It was a thankless task.

 

“Can we get more cupcakes?” Heretic asks about ten minutes into a writing assessment whose instructions he hasn’t finished reading.

 

“No. Dick will bring some later.”

 

“Why don’t we just go and get some ourselves?”

 

“Because we promised we wouldn’t leave the apartment alone.”

 

“We’re not alone.” Heretic points out. “Midnighter is in the next room.”

 

“If you want to be the one to bother him, Heretic, be my guest.”

 

Heretic makes a face. Unlike Damian he isn’t used to hiding his emotions. Damian supposes that’s the inevitable result of inadequate emotional development coupled with having a mask welded to your face.

 

Damian has, as subtly as possibly, been making a study of his twin brother in much the same way that he once had with the Talon, when he’d first arrived in the Batcave. It’s much easier than studying the Talon had been because Heretic doesn’t try and hide his feelings on anything. He also never actively avoids Damian because he thinks that admitted to discomfort would be a sign of weakness. Damian concurs with that assumption. They’re playing a game of chicken, but instead of driving cars at one another they’re engaging in bonding activities.

 

It’s strange, but it’s given Damian the opportunity to gather data. He knows that Heretic prefers to sit on the floor so that he doesn’t have to hunch to speak to anyone. He knows that Heretic has no interest in make-up, or reading, or most television, but likes music and is interested in video games. He knows that Heretic tolerates him, likes Dick, borderline hero-worships Apollo and would quite like to throw Midnighter off a building. He knows that Heretic tends to cover his face whenever he gets nervous, or uncomfortable, and that he dislikes being talked to like he’s stupid or being looked at too obviously.

 

Feeding him has been an issue because all he wants to eat are mini-cupcakes and as far as Damian can tell the only thing Midnighter can cook is eggs. Eggs in many forms, but still _eggs_. Apollo doesn’t seem to need to eat. Or at least chooses not to.

 

Damian had had to step in and make a version of shakshuka before the giant fainted from hunger. Heretic had complained about how terrible it but at least he’d eaten something. He’d made a face the entire time.

 

The same face he made when Damian called him Heretic.

 

“Do you not like being called Heretic?” Damian asks. When they speak in Arabic Damian uses the English word, not the Arabic translation, as his brother’s name.

 

“It’s not a nice thing to be called.” His brother points out. “I guess it’s better than ‘infidel’ but not a lot. It’s not...it’s not really a _real_ name, like a _real person_ would have.”

 

Damian taps his pen on the paper and thinks about how important a name is. “We could call you Harry?” he suggests.

 

Heretic thinks about that. “That doesn’t even sound like a real name. It’s just a short form of ‘heretic’”

 

Damian huffs and crosses his arms. “It is so a real name! It’s British! Like the wizard or the prince or the singer!”

 

“Well, ** _I_** don’t think it sounds like a real name.”

 

“You’re living with someone who doesn’t even have a _‘real person real name’_!” Damian points out. “He uses a single initial and it seems to have worked out for him.”

 

Heretic sulks. Given that he has the face of a child but proportionally larger real estate to work with, his sulk is very dramatic.

 

“I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want a real name.” He whines.

 

“Well, name yourself!” Damian snaps. “I did! Apollo did!”

 

“I don’t know good names. You’re the one who reads all the time. I thought you’d have better names than that. Never mind. I’ll find one myself.”

 

“Fine!”

 

“Fine!”

 

Heretic swears when he breaks his pencil in half again. Damian just wordlessly hands him another. Dick will arrive with cupcakes in just over an hour. Damian is determined that Heretic will get through the assessment by then.

 

 

 

 

 

Midnighter crosses his arms and glares at Apollo across their table in Izmailovsky Market. Apollo ignores him, for the most part and continues eating his shashlik.

 

Apollo is not getting involved in M’s current tantrum. He’s made that clear and if M won’t respect that than tough.

 

M wants Heretic to leave because he doesn’t like M but does like Apollo (and also because his continued presence means they can’t fuck on the dining room table anymore but Apollo just found out that M took ALL of his rebound boys to Apollo’s favourite fucking food stall in the entire world, so M is really delusional if he thinks he’s getting any in the foreseeable future).

 

Apollo actually really likes Heretic. He reminds him of M, but an M whose brain is really really different. Honestly, Apollo thinks he’s just neat. He’s not actually as child-like as he initially seemed- it’s just he has the life experience of a toddler in a war zone and the verbal thing is really not his forte.   


He’s very good at math though, which had been a weird discovery. They’d had him do some evaluations and turned out he was smarter than they were. Not actually surprising given the genetic material involved, and the fact that as a pair of former lab experiments he and M have the combined formal education of most seven year olds, but still impressive, though it was just another reason M was annoyed/insecure/jealous of Heretic.

 

Which is ridiculous for a whole bunch of reasons, none of which Apollo thinks he should have to explain to M and none of which he wants to have to say out loud.

 

Apollo really really really wants to disengage and not deal with this bullshit right now, but it’s hard to do that when the bullshit is centred around a nearly eight foot tall individual currently living with you despite the fact _that you do not have a guest room._

 

M is still glaring at him and Apollo is still ignoring it because he does not have a solution. Ultimately, Heretic, half-child, half-man that he is, will have to find somewhere to live that is not their apartment but Apollo isn’t willing to force the issue and he knows that M won’t do anything to piss him off.

 

The break-up may have been what M needed to do to get his head on straight and believe in his own personhood, but Apollo’s heart got stomped out and he didn’t maybe deal with that as well as he could have. They’re back together and M went to literal Hell to rescue Apollo, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’d broken Apollo’s heart and then called him up when he’d needed help.

 

Apollo, finally relents in the face of M’s bad mood and leans across the table to give M a peck on the lips. Partly because this is Moscow and fighting homophobes is one of M’s top five favourite activities and partly because Apollo knows you can’t hide from the god-like superbeing and his squad for too long. A super-powered brawl is just the sort of thing to get their attention and get it over with.

 

He lets M duck through the Door ahead of him, and then takes off into the sky, hoping to be intercepted.

 

He helped a little bit during the fight. Just a bit, enough to get noticed he hopes.

 

But once again, the flight home is uneventful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once Tim informs him that Jason has Dick Grayson’s telephone number it doesn’t take Bruce long to force him to relinquish it.

 

It’s one of those slippery social moments where Bruce knows he’s doing the wrong thing and he just can’t stop himself.

 

The wrong thing in this case being upsetting Jason by violating his privacy and manipulating him into if not cooperation than at least no longer active resistance, and then phoning Grayson non-stop until the man picked up.

 

“IS Damian with you!?” Bruce half-screams down the line.

 

There’s a pause. “Yes.”

 

“Put him on I need to speak with him.”

 

There’s a shuffle and the muffled sound of an exchange and then finally, blessedly, thank the immutable bitch that is fate, Damian’s voice.

 

“Damian?! Are you alright? Are you hurt What happened?!” Bruce shouts, hoping his son will answer.

 

There’s the sound of another scuffle and Damian finally answers. “Father, your concern while appreciated, is unnecessary. I am well, and unharmed. We have returned to Wisconsin.”

 

“Why did you run away?” The ‘again’ goes unspoken but generally understood. “Did you hear about your Mother?”

 

There another long pause and more shuffling. Damian is checking with Dick about what he should say, Bruce suspects. He feels wretched. Heart-broken and useless and failing the people who need him. 

 

“Yes. Dick heard from Jason and came to get me.” A lie. An obvious one, since while Damian’s disappearance hadn’t been recorded (that was the last time Bruce let Jason’s complaints about ‘healthy boundaries’ stop him) security footage from around the house made it impossible for Dick to have entered and left without being seen.

 

“I’m sorry Damian. I’m planning to have her remains interred at Wayne Manor. In the family plot. She’s your Mother though, we’ll wait until your ready before we perform any kind of service.”

 

Damian snorts. “She was an Al Ghul. Bury her and have done with it. We do not require empty words or false hopes to soften death. It’s an old friend. We know how to die from the moment we’re born.

 

Bruce’s heart wrenches. This is the son he remembers from the early days, proud, and distant and impossible. Only now Bruce knows what Damian is like when he’s not putting up a front and it’s painful to hear him revert to the role he’s been told to play his whole life.

 

“Alright, but we’ll have a service for her when you get back. We all knew her so it’ll just be something for us to...remember her.”

 

There’s a long silence. “I...” Damian sounds more like himself now. Like the boy who hesitantly talks about the injustices of grading rubrics and the development of agricultural practices. “I think I might like that.”

 

“Good. Are you coming home soon?”

 

“I am home.”

 

“What about school?”

 

“The state  and University of Wisconsin are concerned for my well-being. Mandatory counselling will likely be required, both by the school and the state, however, the school in particular seems incredibly hesitant to lose me.”

 

“If there’s one thing supervillains have done it’s make people re-evaluate how to handle troubled but gifted children.”

 

“T-t.”

 

“I’d like you to come back to Gotham. Just for a while, just until we determine that you are not also a target. Leviathan has fallen and it looks like the League of Shadows is under attack. It’s a dangerous time to be an Al Ghul.”

 

“I’m confidant that I have done nothing to draw the sort of ire my Grandfather is currently suffering under. Nor am I defenceless should that prove to be an incorrect assumption.”

 

“Damian. Please. I’m your father. I just want what’s best for you. I want you to be safe. I want you to be looked after.”

 

“Would you help me...even if it was to do something you disapproved of? If you couldn’t dictate terms in any way, would you still be willing to....”

 

“Damian, what happened? What do you need?” That’s not the real question, the thing that edges close to a terror Bruce is ashamed of. “What are you afraid to tell me?”

 

“I might need your help, but I can’t trust that you wouldn’t hurt us.”

 

“Damian. Please come home. I just... I need to see that you’re alright. We need to bury your mother. I-“

 

“I’ll speak to you again soon, Father. Rest assured I am very safe, and well looked after.”

 

He hangs up. Bruce folds forward and puts his head in his hands. His son doesn’t trust him. He doesn’t trust him with his grief or his medical problems or his person.

 

He’s failed. His eyes burn. He’s failed Talia, and her son.

 

He can’t believe she’s dead. He can’t believe he’ll never hear that voice say ‘Beloved’ again, or see the way the pretences always fell away when she talked about Damian, the act she always put on bleeding away in the face of her anger or her concern or her love for her only child.

 

She had been his first real love, when they had both been much younger, brighter and more naive people. He’s never loved anyone like he loved her. How could he? He was a different man now, and she had been a different woman from the one he had loved.

 

Talia’s death has broken the heart of the young man who’d never really stopped loving her. Bruce wasn’t that young man anymore, but part of him always would be. Judging by Tim’s analysis of the scene her end had been neither pleasant nor the manner in which she would have chosen to be defeated.

 

No assassination, no final duel. The broken shards of kryptonite they’d gathered from the scene suggested that Talia had been prepared for the day the Justice League reneged on it’s ruling to let Bruce handle this, and sent in the big guns. Apparently whatever group had come for Talia instead had big guns too, only with different weaknesses that Talia’s preparations had been useless against.

 

Tim was still floating the Tamaranian theory, except the burn patterning was wrong and the only known member of the species to currently be on Earth resided in South Beach and was recorded having a lovely time in a karaoke bar there at the approximate time of the incident.

 

He opens the file for the investigation and starts going over the details again. The answer is there. He just needs to find it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The most miraculous thing about mundane life is the way that once you’ve set up the mechanism the wheels keep spinning, even without you.

 

Damian is pleasantly surprised to find a number of e-mails from various academic advisors and counsellors in the employ of the university enquiring as to his health and continued studies. He also apparently forgot to set a mechanism for the automatic payment of the wi-fi bill and has to spend an afternoon on the phone when it cuts out and leaves Dick desolate without his Instagram.

 

They have a court date next week as well, to sort out Damian’s assault charges, and also his identity.

 

It’s surprisingly easy to slip back into the everyday small scale life they’d made, and what’s more everyone is happy to see them. The barista smiles at them and draws a heart on their paper cups. The doorman spends a few minutes happily greeting them and telling them how pleased he is to see them back. Dick’s best friend comes over to the apartment because Damian is not feeling up to being alone and he is so kind about the whole thing that it makes Damian want to scream.

 

Unfortunately their less than normal problems don’t disappear just because they look away from them for a day or two.

 

The Heretic has begun loudly voicing his displeasure at living with Apollo and Midnighter, and since he’s over seven feet tall and built for destruction this has caused more than a little friction between roommates. He won’t hear of going to live with strangers though, despite the fact that M does actually know one or two people that either would be able to help or would definitely be able to find someone who could.

 

It’s unspoken between Damian and Dick that they will eventually offer him a place to live, if he continues to refuse to consider other options.

 

They’re hesitant to bring it up though, because everything feels so fragile right now. Well, not everything, just them. There has been a marked regression in their progress to normalcy after the mess of the last few months.

  
Dick apparently gave up on his studies while Damian was away and Damian has so far failed to force him back to them.

 

He also is watchful and wary in a way that reminds Damian of those first few weeks when he’d been in the holding cell in the Batcave. Watching, and waiting for the axe to fall.

 

It’s not unreasonable. Apollo and Midnighter’s destruction of Leviathan and current crusade against the League of Assassins has to have caught the attention of the Justice League. Damian suspects they are being particularly dramatic in order to delay Batman responding to Damian’s return to Wisconsin (which was technically abduction) by forcing him to hopscotch around the world scraping vaporized human remains off of walls.

 

Apollo really is ridiculously terrifyingly powerful, and unlike Superman he does not misdirect or perform a version of himself so as to appear non-threatening.

 

It has been made clear to Damian that the Bats know where they are and are not exactly pleased by what has happened. Tim showed up in the lobby a day or two after their more permanent return, dressed in corporate couture more suited to a man three times his age, and had expressed a certain amount of disdain for Damian’s habit of running away. He’d also reminded Damian that he had appointments with his specialist every two weeks and that he would be expected to continue making them, without access to the Wayne private jet.

 

Damian reads between the lines and gathers that Bruce has registered the futility of bringing him back to Gotham if he’s just going to run away again. Tim as the practical member of the family has been deputized to supervise him until Bruce can be bothered to turn up.

 

Tim is brusque and relatively understanding. Everyone assumes that Jason has filled him in on the Heretic situation, though no one mentions it directly.

 

He only brings it up once, just as he’s about to leave.   
  
“I have considerable resources, as you know, and if you need help compiling a list of specialists or residential care facilities I would be happy to help you with them.”

 

Damian bristles, but bites his tongue. Tim is only trying to help, and if there’s one thing he’s learned from the epically terrible decisions he’s made the last couple of months it’s that help should never be thoughtlessly cast aside.

 

“We’re alright for now.” He tells him. “If that changes we’ll let you know.”

 

Tim frowns at him. “You okay?”

 

Damian shrugs.

 

 “I’m sorry about your mom.”

 

“Is Father very angry at me?” Damian asks.

 

Tim sighs. “He was really worried Damian. He thought you’d been killed. Would it have killed you to leave a note?”

 

“I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t think he’d care or...notice.”

 

“We’re your family Damian. Of course we care. And of course we notice. The Justice League is trying to get to the bottom of your meta friends origins and location but the second they do you can expect a knock on your door. You should call Bruce though, he took your running away kind of personally. He’ll be respecting your wishes right up until the moment you tell him otherwise.’

 

Damian shrugs, and wraps his arms around himself and heads back upstairs. He prefers not to leave the building too often these days.

 

 

 

 

The thing is M has been expecting this for weeks. He’s actually veered into the particularly avant-guarde in his approach to vigilante justice in the hopes of provoking a reaction and drawing the Justice League out while they’re away from home.

  
He knows Apollo has been doing something similar by floating around like a leaf on the wind in the ionosphere way more than he ordinarily would in the hopes that Superman would just be a freakin’ adult and have a five minute conversation instead of causing a stupid confrontational dramatic scene.

 

But, that was obviously too much to hope for, so here they are: walking back to Apollo’s apartment from the stupid farmers market with their stupid over prices kale that neither of them need to actually eat because they aren’t actually human by most traditional definitions, and Apollo has his arm around M’s shoulder, and that is the Justice League descending from on high like the most obnoxious self-congratulatory righteous pricks that were ever granted power beyond mortal ken.

 

M feels Andrew go stiff. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’d been right. Apollo had regretted losing his temper and completely unleashing his powers like that. There’s a reason he doesn’t do that anymore, and while that reason is personal and mostly happened during their break-up M knows that Apollo had given up on playing hero for a good reason.

 

M braces himself, and prays it’s him they’ve tracked here.  M has no secret identity to be unmasked, but he doubts anyone has linked Andrew Pulawski: model tenant, and former farm kid, to Apollo: unstoppable sungod who could bring nations to their knees.

 

Instead, as Apollo disentangles himself from both M and their shopping it becomes clear that the gods did not come down to Earth for little ol’ Midnighter. They’re looking at Apollo. They’re here for him.

 

Superman talks first because they have to stay on brand.

 

“This doesn’t have to get ugly. You obviously have people you care about. We’re not here to hurt you or anyone but-“

 

“But fights between the like of you and I tend to level cities and bring empires to their knees? Yeah, I saw that movie too. I didn’t like the speech there either.” Apolo snarls, and M has to cover his mouth to hide his smile at Superman’s expression. Everyone always thinks Apollo is the nice one for some reason. It’s really not true. Neither of them are nice. As a rule nice people don’t like M, and M has no use for nice people.

 

Apollo is letting go of M’s hand and stepping away and M looks between the Superheroes in their stupid primary coloured glory and the love of his life, the reason his withered stunted heart learned to love, how had Dick put it all those months ago? Everything good and lovely and true in the world smushed into human form? (No, that’s not quite right).

 

 

He wills his stupid computer implants to come online and they flick through scenario after scenario (dead.dead.dead.lose.dead.dead.dead.captured.dead.dead. _oooh that might work_ ) and he wishes that he had his work clothes on him, but he’d been with Apollo and he didn’t have unlimited sets, and it was really a bitch and a half to get blood out of leather.

 

Instead he throws himself forward and latches onto Apollo. “You’re not going anywhere with them. I wasn’t aware that the Justice League have arrest privileges in California.”

 

Wonderwoman’s lips thin. “We need to speak to your friend.” She says.

 

“Boyfriend.” He and Apollo both correct her immediately. “And why?”

 

“We have reason to believe-“

 

“So you haven’t got proof? What is this a police state? He under arrest for being metahuman while grocery shopping?!” M demands to know while brandishing his reusable bag of produce like a flag of defiance.

 

He can tell by the way Apollo’s holding his shoulders that he’s fighting back a smile. “Come back with a warrant from literally any recognized legal governing body and we’ll talk.”

 

The superheroes hesitate and M knows they’ve won. For now. The gods in spandex will be back eventually.

 

They use the Door to get the rest of the way home. If M holds Apollo’s hand a little tighter than usual Apollo doesn’t comment. It’s not like he can’t take it.

 

 

 

 

 

The Justice League sniffing around is what finally tips the situation over from uncomfortable to unsustainable.

 

Heretic declares he refuses to live somewhere that psychotic aliens might descend on at any minute (Damian assumes he means Superman but honestly that probably applies to a few members of the league), and basically dares Damian to take him in. Or at least that’s how Damian frames the discussion. Dick witnessed the entire exchange and he is absolutely certain no such dare took place, but Damian claims he’s completely missing the subtext.

 

They have room, obviously. They live in the penthouse and there are a couple empty rooms. The bed will have to be ordered special, and they’ll need to rearrange some of the weapons that have accumulated but it’s doable.

 

Heretic just needs to cooperate and make his peace with the fact that he’ll be living somewhere that Batman has been known to casually drop by and keeps under constant surveillance.

 

Dick paces and waits for Damian while he talks to his brother.

 

M watches him from the couch.

 

“It’s always easier in theory, isn’t it?”

 

“What?”

 

M shrugs. “Helping. Being good. All that stuff.”

 

Dick glares at him. “Shut up.”

 

“Heretic is going to be more complicated than we anticipated.”

  
Dick tenses. “I know.”

 

“We thought he’d have more emotional control. Be more adult psychologically. He’ll be harder to find a place for because he’s not a kid but he’s also not not a kid. And his response to anything that upsets him is to try and kill it. He’d have gone for Damian if I hadn’t been there.”

 

Dick nods. “I know.”

 

“I’m not saying we can’t find something, I’m just saying it’s not going to be simple. Not to mention it might fuck up the kid if he’s around.”

 

Dick glares at him.

 

“It’s not comfortable to have someone with your face constantly trying to murder you.” M continues.

 

“Shut up. Heretic hasn’t done anything since the first day.”

 

“And that’s not even touching on the medical complications he might have from being artificially grown so quickly.” M goes on as though Dick hasn’t said a word. “I heard a rumour Luthorcorp made a Superman clone that they artificially aged and his cells don’t decay normally at all. Which would be a best case scenario, I’ve heard horror stories about this other Superman clone whose like..messed up. And even if he’s fine people who grow that tall under medically normal circumstances often suffer from problems with bones, arthritis, heart or other organ failure...etc, etc.”  M waves his hands and puts on an accent for the last bit.

 

Dick puts his head in his hands. Not even a _King and I_ reference is going to lighten his mood right not. “Please shut up, M.”

 

“We saved his life and killed his mother. He’s our responsibility now.” M reminds him.

 

“Well, I’m open to suggestions.”  Dick points out.

 

“We’re not pawning him off on someone else. We deal with it. We look after him.”

 

“We?”

 

“You, me, Apollo. And I guess Jason if he’s up for it, but he doesn’t seem reliable.”

 

“I don’t think getting raised by you is something we should inflict on him. Or the world.” Dick points out.   


“Okay, what’s your plan? You gonna ditch him cause he’s too much for you to handle?”

 

Dick tries to massage his face into something that feels human. “Stop it M. I would never do that.”

 

“No. This was your idea. You’re not going to duck out of it-“

 

“I know.”

 

“We’ll be okay. And so will he.”

  
“Promise?”

 

“Yeah. I’ve fought this fight a million times already. I know the right moves.”

  
Dick smiles hopefully at him.

 

M grins back, and for once he doesn’t curl his lip. It’s a real smile, not a snarl. 

 

 

 

 

 

Apollo sighs and coasts on a thermal, allowing himself to be pulled along like a leaf on the breeze. He’s calm, and content, but he knows the second he heads back to earth all his problems will come rushing back.

 

Sometimes, he has the vindictive impulse to just stay here. Pay M back for leaving like that and then coming back the way he had.

 

It’s stupid. He’d never actually do that. It’s not who he is.

 

He drifts closer to the molten surface and skips along the superheated gas leaving ripples in his wake. He’s never more energized and nourished than when he heads directly to the source.

 

It’s probably fucked up that he only really feels calm and safe on the surface of a star no other being in the galaxy can withstand the force of. No one to be afraid of and no one to put in danger with his...fucked-up non-human strengths.

 

His cells soak up the radiation, supercharging his powers. He’ll run through most of it heading back to Earth.

 

He lets himself float up away from the surface of the Sun again and rides the solar flares out and then flies back for a while.

 

M is being impossible, which is not unusual but Apollo doesn’t feel like he has the energy to deal with it, which is.

 

Heretic upsets M a lot, which is not unreasonable since a closer parallel to M’s own trauma would be harder to dig up. Unfortunately, M is currently unwilling to admit that which makes it impossible to find a solution to the problem.

 

Apollo rides another solar flare and decides to admit defeat. It was a long shot that the Watchtower had technology that would have been able to pick up such tiny activity as his presence on the sun.

 

He heads home, as usual quashing the urge to stop on Venus. The clouds are too dense. He’d probably burn through his powers very quickly and the next thing he knew-

 

Well, he has no idea what would happen. Would he die? Would he just waste away? Weaker and weaker, unable to die and unable to reach the sunlight he needs to live? He shudders at the thought and heads home.

 

**_He’s_** waiting when Apollo gets back. Floating on an interception course. Superman. The Alien who was, unknowingly, the cause behind almost every terrible thing that had ever happened to Apollo. Except M leaving him. That had been pure human stupidity. But, almost everything else.

 

Apollo was made in Superman’s image. Not to fulfil his role, not even to challenge him. As far as he’d ever been able to work out, the aliens that had taken him had done what they’d done more out of a scientific curiosity than anything else. They wanted to know how Superman worked and were trying to reverse engineer the principles.

 

They’d done it in the end, but they hadn’t considered what might happen when one of their lab rats found itself with the unstoppable powers of the world’s greatest hero. Greater even. Apollo might have sharper limits than Superman but he is immune to kryptonite.

 

Superman smiles disarmingly at Apollo. “I’m sorry about that ambush in Opal City- uh. I don’t even know your name?”

 

Apollo blinks and hovers out of arms reach. “You can call me Apollo. Most people do.”

 

“You’re not, uh…that is your origin isn’t-“

 

“I’m not Kryptonian, if that’s what you want to know.”

 

“So, what are you? I’ve never met anyone not a child of Krypton who even came close to what we’re capable of.”

 

“Artificial Kryptonian. All the taste, none of the calories.”

 

Superman makes a face and Apollo resists the urge to punch him. _It’s all your fault. Everything I am. Everything that’s **wrong** with me. _

Except of course it wasn’t. Superman hadn’t put him on that space station and Superman hadn’t experimented on him.

 

“What’s your interest in the League of Assassins?” Superman asks.

 

“They caught my full attention. My ‘friend’ is a  mercenary. When he finds things that are particularly bad, done by people who forfeited their right to exist the moment they did them…he let’s me know.” Apollo explains. It’s not exactly a lie. M does tell him about his work, but M is the farthest thing from a mercenary there is, as many who have tried to hire him found out to their sorrow.

 

“I can’t fault your target. The League of Shadows has done terrible things. But, I can’t allow you to act unilaterally without any kind of oversight. The Justice League’s place in the world is too fragile for that.”

 

Apollo snorts. “Only you would be idiot enough to think your place in the world could ever be fragile.”

 

Superman looks wounded at that. “We’re not your enemies.”

 

“Maybe. But, you’re sure as shit not my friends.” Apollo replies. His skin is crawling and he wants out. He’s reminded of being human and the day the oh so concerned gym teacher had stopped him to talk about the other kids picking on him. As if he actually cared, as if he would actually do something to stop it.

 

“I want you to come with me. The Justice League can’t allow you to continue operating independently. We can help you.”

 

Apollo guffaws. “I don’t need your help, moron.” He’s got the giggles and can’t stop. “I’ve been looking after myself for a while. There’s nothing you can offer me, and nothing you can threaten. Get out of my way.”

 

Superman hesitates and then floats slightly to the left. “We’re watching. Go too far and we will intervene.”

 

Apollo smirks. “You and what army sweetcheeks?”

 

He floats past and then pauses. “Look, if you ever need my help. Like…if you get sick of Lex Luthor trying to kill you any given Sunday…I’d help you out. I know you’re good people Supes, and Lex’s special K won’t work on me.” He winks.

 

He spins around to face him. “I’d wear your colours even. Let people think you finally beat the bad guy.”

 

Superman frowns. “I wouldn’t ask you to do something like that! You shouldn’t be going anywhere near Luthor! And that’s not the sort of thing I use my powers for!”

 

Apollo smiles in spite of himself. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

 

Superman rolls his eyes. “I’ve been told…but, I’m serious Apollo: stand down or be taken down.”

 

Apollos sighs. “You think Aquaman would show up to that fight? My boyfriend has a crush. The king of Atlantis could punch him in the dick and he’d say thanks.”

  
“You can fly.”

 

“So?”

 

“So, why would the king of the seas show up to that fight?”

 

“Fair point. Is he single though?”   
  
“He’s married.”   
  
“Shame. His wife open-minded?”

 

Superman makes a face and Apollo snickers. “I’m just kiddin’, Supes. I promise I won’t cause more trouble.” He does his best approximation of the sign of the cross and puts his hands together. “I’ll be a little angel I swear.”

 

Superman looks like he’s sucking a lemon. Apollo laughs in his face. “Or I could sacrifice a goat to show my good intentions? That seems more like Wonderwoman’s style…”

 

Supermna sighs. “Just go, and don’t destroy anymore geographic features, or landmasses.”

 

Apollo winks at him. “I promise, Superman.”   
  
“Somehow that doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

 

“I was made in your image. I’d never lie to you.”

 

“Just go.”

 

Apollo cackles. “Give Aquaman a kiss from me!”

 

Superman shakes his head. “This will be your only warning Apollo!” he yells after him.

 

Apollo flips him the bird as he flies off.

 

 

 

 

 

Damian helps move Heretic in. They had to special order the bed, but money had expedited the process, and they had the penthouse. There were spare rooms.

 

Heretic sighs as he looks at the empty white room.

 

“Can we paint it?”

 

Damian puts a box down. “Sure.”

 

“Can we paint it black?”

 

“No.”

 

Heretic huffs and pouts, a move that Damian is becoming intimately familiar with.

 

“I’ve been thinking about the favour you asked of me.”

 

“What favour?”

 

“You know...your name. You said you wanted one that was more...real.”

 

“Yes. I did say that.”

 

“Well, I did a lot of thinking and I think I’ve come up with one that would suit you.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Jonah. It’s from the Torah, so it’s as established a human name as you can get, and Jonah was supposed to follow orders from god and refused. So he was a heretic, and then as punishment he was eaten by a whale.”

 

Heretic turns to look at him. “He was eaten by a whale?”   
  
“Well, swallowed. He relents and gets spat back up again. I just...I thought it would suit you.”

 

Heretic sits down and thinks about it. “Jonah.” He tries the word out. He glances at Damian. “You think it would fit me?”

 

Damian shrugs. “If it doesn’t we can just come up with something else. Harry isn’t going anywhere.”

 

“Okay. I think I want to try being Jonah then...thanks. For naming me, I guess.”

 

Damian smiles at his brother. “Anytime.”

 

Jonah is hesitant but after a second he smiles back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a fan of Apollo's DC backstory so that's what I'm going with here. I wish they'd include him in the Superman verse in the same way that Midnighter has been included in the Batman-verse. I just think his general thing of wanting to help people without wanting to be a 'superhero' is interesting and would make a good foil for Clark to interact with. 
> 
> Guys! Guys! We're almost at the end. Maybe two chapters left, plus whatever epilogue/outtakes I decide to include!! So exciting! 
> 
> Also, sorry for the lack of updates. I'm just having trouble bringing it all together. Hope you guys like and don't mind the lack of action in this one (and the lack of Jason).


	15. Keep Trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonah adjusts to life as a human. Damian tries to move forward. Jason asks Dick a question. Apollo pretends to have all the answers.

Damian is surprised at first to realize that Dick isn't good with Jonah. He's scared of him actually, which makes Jonah resentful and even more difficult.

 

It’s easy to forget that Dick had been afraid of almost everything when they’d met. Hiding behind his bed. Not eating or sleeping or pretending to function. It had taken weeks for Damian to gain Dick’s trust despite his best efforts and Jonah seems completely unwilling to put in any effort at all.

 

Jonah’s easier to help than Dick was. Jonah isn’t afraid, or if he is he covers it by pretending to be angry or mean. It has not escaped Damian’s notice, however, that his brother rarely leaves the apartment and spends most of his days shouting at the television while playing Halo.

 

But, Damian is a scientist. He observes and hypothesizes and adjusts the apartment bit by bit to better suit his brother’s needs. That’s easier than it was with Dick too. Dick had hidden everything he’d felt back then. Jonah not only never learned to hide his emotions (why would he with his face behind that mask?) but, has so much more face to work with than Dick.

 

So, Damian observes and he learns and he intervenes when necessary.

 

Jonah doesn’t like people looking at his face. It makes him uncomfortable, and it’s obvious even from a distance that it is, to quote Jason, ‘pretty messed up’. So, Damian acquires paper surgical masks for his brother, and then after gauging the reaction to those, bandanas with a variety of patterns that he can use to cover the bottom half of his face (Jonah’s favourite is the one with the terrifying drawing of a shark’s tooth-filled mouth that always makes people take an instinctive step back when he wears it outside, unfortunately this reaction only increases his enthusiasm for the look). Damian realizes that while Jonah would rather people not look at him at all, he knows that given his size it is inevitable, and prefers to alter his appearance to control what the reaction will be (he prefers fear to disgust or pity). 

 

Jonah also hates almost all American food, and quickly tires of Damian’s attempts to meet his specifications and takes over cooking in what could be described as a violent coup that destroys the Kitchenaid stand mixer that no one ever used. Unfortunately Jonah doesn’t know how to do anything other than kill and plan killing, which means the quality of their meals takes a significant dip but at least Jonah stops snarling swear words in Arabic at everyone all the time.

 

He likes playing strategy and shooter video games and cackles at the gunfire, which makes Dick cover his ears and hide in his room.

 

Damian perches on the arm rest of the chair while Jonah sits on the floor. This puts their heads at a similar height. 

 

“I wish you’d be nicer to him.” Damian says in English.

 

Jonah grunts. “Nice won’t change anything. I’m scary. He’ll get used to be or he won’t.” He replies in Arabic, which is typical of many of their conversations.  Jonah is also resistant to improving his conversational English.

 

“But, you could try-“

 

“I don’t wanna try.” Jonah grumbles furiously mashing buttons and spraying digital death across the screen. “Besides the girl at the coffee shop pretty much screamed out loud when she first saw me and now she barely blinks. Dick will get used to me.”

 

“That’s true.” Damian concedes. “Have you thought anymore about school? Or a hobby that isn’t video games where you kill people?”

  
“School is stupid. I like video games.” Jonah snaps and then screams in frustration and throws the controller across the room where it smashes on the wall. “FUCK!” he shouts as he stares at his hands. “Why won’t they fucking work?”

 

“What happened?!” Dick asks skidding into the room with his knives out.

  
“Nothing to be alarmed about!” Damian interjects before the situation can escalate. “Jonah was practicing his fine motor skills and over tired his hands! He just needs to rest them for a little while.”

 

He carefully wraps a handkerchief around his brother’s shaking hands. All it does is hide the shaking, but that still helps to calm Heretic down. Jonah stares down at Damian’s hands on his.

  
“I don’t understand. You work properly! It’s not fair.”

 

“Our brains developed differently.” Damian reminds him. “The neural pathways are different. Our muscle tone is different. You just keep practicing and it will improve. It already has remember?”

  
Jonah scowls. “It’s not fair that you’re right and I’m just...wrong.”

 

Damian stares him down. “I’m not right. I’m broken in a different way.” He worries his lip and glances at Dick. “I have an appointment in Gotham next week actually. My medical team wants to meet to talk about what they found in the files you stole from Talia.”

 

Dick freezes in panic. “Have they told Batman?”

 

Damian shrugs. “I don’t think so. Doctor patient confidentiality, but he’ll find out eventually.”

 

Dick looks at Jonah. “What do we tell him about your brother?”  
  
“Nothing.” Jonah snarls in English. “He’s nothing. I’d kill him myself and spit on his grave if you’d let me.”

 

They both look at the massive clone in shock. “He’s less than nothing to me. Just like I’m not even a person to him.” Jonah continues. 

 

“He’s been sniffing around though.” Dick tells him. 

 

“I don’t care. My mother was a whale. He’s nothing. I don’t want him near me. I don’t want him to know about me.”

 

There’s a pause as Dick and Damian look at each other. “Your Father...” Dick begins hesitantly. “he’s not.. _.bad_. If he understood he’d-“

 

“That’s not what Apollo says! Apollo told me about what he thinks about metahumans. Mother told me what he thinks of killers, too. He’d never understand. Never. And you hate him too, so why would I want to know him?.” Jonah insists.

 

Damian meets Dick’s eye and nods.  


Dick bites his lip and shrugs. “Alright.” He mimes locking his lips closed. “I won’t say a word.”

 

 

 

 

Bruce sits in the hotel restaurant and stirs his coffee while trying not to grip the spoon too tightly. In private he only ever drinks it black, sugar and dairy being closely monitored for peak physical performace, but in public he indulged- excess sugar and cream were in line with who he pretended to be for the public’s enjoyment.

 

An unmissable figure appears at the door, and the waiter, with a look of scepticism, points out Bruce’s table.

 

Dick Grayson strides over and Bruce can’t help but wonder if he’s dressed as an offense to fashion as a deliberate provocation. He’s wearing a blazer with padded shoulders and an incredibly loud and colourful pattern of tropical birds, which is clashing with his pin-striped slacks. It's a truly hideous ensemble. At least his make-up matched the sports coat. That was something to hold on to at least.

 

For some reason the idea that Damian will grow up with no one to teach him how to immaculately wear a suit, or look effortless chic is as troublesome as the notion that he might become an adult without the knowledge of how to fend off an attacker or break into the Gotham police station.

 

Dick sits down very dramatically, and that answers Bruce’s question about the outfit. It is obviously a statement. Though, a statement of what exactly, Bruce still is not sure. Dick’s mind is a bit like the knight on a chess board, it ends up in unexpected places but is all the more dangerous for it. 

 

“So, why did you ask to see me?” Dick asks, pouring sugar into the coffee the waiter sets down.

 

“I’m calling a truce.”  


“I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware we were fighting.” Dick answers with false confusion.

 

“Dick...”

 

“Though, if we were there’s no question that you lost.”

 

Bruce resists the urge to slam his fist down onto the table, or throw his cup of coffee in Dick’s face. Instead he puts his spoon down very carefully.

 

“Wrong metaphor, I guess.” He concedes. “After all, how could we be in conflict when we both want the same thing?”  


Dick’s got a scowl to match Jason on his worst day. Who knew? “I disagree on that assessment.”

 

“We want what’s best for Damian.”  


“Wrong. You want what’s best _from_ Damian. I want him to be happy and safe and make his own choices.”

 

“Well, Damian has chosen. I think that’s clear to both of us.”  


Dick doesn’t relax. “That is true.”

 

“But, I’m his Father. I want a relationship with my son.”

 

“You can’t threaten us with anything I-“

  
“I’m not here to threaten. I’m here to negotiate, in the hope that we can come to a mutually agreed upon understanding.”

 

“And what are you proposing?”

 

Bruce clears his throat and remembers his speech. He’d practiced it with Duke, who had inserted himself into the whole mess after reminding everyone that he was the only member of the household with any experience in healthy family dynamics.  
  
“I need to spend time with Damian and neither of us feel at ease when you’re spying at us from behind the ficus ten feet away. I propose a family dinner every other week with myself, Damian, and you, as well as any other members of the family who choose to attend. We would begin by holding them in Maddison, but would eventually, once everyone had become more comfortable, split them between here and Gotham. Furthermore, Damian and I will spend time together in neutral locations, meaning not here, and not Gotham, as our schedules allow. You may attend some, but not all of these outings.”

  

Dick looks away and drums his fingers on the table. “I don’t trust you, Mr. Wayne. I don’t care what the papers say: you’re not a good man. I don’t want you alone around Damian, but...you’re his _dad_. He wishes things were different, too, but he doesn’t trust you either.” Dick sighs. “But, he needs his medical treatment from a source he can trust.”

 

“Well, that’s something.”

 

Dick mimes taking another sip of tea with his pinky out in a manner that Alfred would have taken great offence at. “I suppose.”

 

“Speaking of which, we’ve got some information that we think would be beneficial to his doctors. Some of Talia’s files. The doctors have them now, actually.”

 

That was practically an admission that Dick had somehow been involved in either Talia’s death or the destruction of Infinity Island.

 

Bruce narrows his eyes at him. “Where did you get them?”

  
Dick smiles like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “I have my sources, and Damian has money. Combine the two and it’s amazing what we can do.”

 

Bruce tightens his grip on the table. “Did you kill her?” 

  
Dick tilts his head. “Is that what you think of me? I don’t hurt people anymore Bruce. Unlike you.”

 

Bruce takes a deep breath and tries to remember Duke’s advise about not rising to the bait. “Please courier the information to Wayne manor. I want to make sure Damian’s doctors are working with the best possible information.”

 

“They are. Jason took a look at the files and removed any obvious lies or misdirections.”

 

Bruce’s hands tighten involuntarily into fists. “Jason knows about this?!”  


Dick smiles. “Jason knows all sorts of things.”

 

 

  

Damian swings his legs on the chair and watches his doctors warily. Dick is waiting outside in the hallway. Medical discussions upset him too much.

 

Leslie is there too, either as moral support or to be Bruce’s spy, Damian’s not sure.

 

The Doctors have mostly gotten used to speaking to Damian and no longer try and soften blows or oversimplify the science. They’re primarily researchers so he suspects it’s as much a relief to them as to him when they are not dumbing things down.

 

The results are in and, while not exactly damning, they are disturbing. He isn’t growing properly and whether that is by error or design is impossible to know. They talk about treatment plans and medication options and even possible surgeries down the line.

 

Puberty will have to be monitored or even artificially induced. His brain doesn’t produce the chemicals it should in the quantities it should.

 

“If it happened the other way, would there be anything you could do?” he asks softly once the discussion has started to wind down.

 

“What do you mean?”

  
“I mean, if I had been induced to grow too quickly and enter puberty too early, would there be anything you could do about it? Anything to help?”  
  
They all frown and exchange looks. 

“We wouldn’t be able to reverse it if that what you-“  
  
“I know that! I’m not completely ignorant! I just meant-“ 

“We might be able to alleviate any symptoms. If that were the case.” Leslie interjects frankly. She meets Damian’s eye and he has a strong suspicion that she has guessed this question is more literal than hypothetical. He nods.

 

The medications are decided on and the prescriptions written. Leslie offers to walk Damian out, and pauses by the door. She puts her hand out as though to rest it on his shoulder and then thinks better of it, and drops it back to her side.

 

Damian tries not to feel the sting of that.  
  
“Who is it that had the other problem, Damian?” she asks. “There could be serious side effects if they aren’t treated-“

Damian steps back and glares at her. “It’s being handled. If you tell Father anything about this, I will destroy you as soon as I am able.”

 

He turns on his heel and walks out. Dick is waiting on a bench outside jiggling his leg and struggling not to gnaw on his lip or fingers. He relaxes the second he sees Damian and smiles at him.

 

Damian smiles back and waves.

 

They fill the prescriptions and buy one of those funny little pill organizers. Dick decorates it with decoupage and rhinestones. It makes Damian smile every morning when he takes his medications.

 

  

 

Jason frowns as he lies on the roof and struggles to frame the shot that has been meticulously laid out for him in Damian’s storyboard.

  
He’s not exactly sure how parkour is going to fold into Dick’s current online brand of meta-human commentary and flawless make-up but he also knows better than to get in Damian’s way when he’s mid scheme so he’s keeping his mouth shut.

 

Heretic and Damian are in deep conversation off to the side and seemingly oblivious to the very quiet but also obviously very intense fight that Apollo and Midnighter were currently having only a few feet away.

 

Dick is not so lucky and wanders over to Jason with a look mild panic. He thumps down next to Jason in a move that is almost more sudden collapse than sitting down. Finally less than gracefull for once, Jason thinks smugly.

 

Jason raises an eyebrow. “What’s that about?” he asks jerking his head towards the whispered fight that seems to be only gaining steam. Apollo is obviously very upset since he started glowing and floating a couple minutes ago and hasn’t noticed yet.

 

Dick shrugs and rests his head on his hand. “Secrets. What else?”

 

Jason grimaces. “Should we duck and cover in case of the Apocalypse?” Jason considers what he just said. “I mean, Apollocalypse?”

  
  
Dick shakes his head and ignores the pun. “No. I think Apollo is going to start crying soon though. I’ve never seen that happen before.”  


Apollo crying. What a terrifying concept. “Jesus.” 

Dick nods.  


“Parkour led to this somehow?”  
  
“No, M was trying to not blow up about something but couldn’t contain himself, so here we are.”

Jason clicks his tongue. “Lying on a roof trying to talk about something else?”

  
“Yep.”

 

Jason eyes Dick. He’s in his usual uniform of leggings and oversized sweatshirt but he’s not wearing any makeup, which is weird. The yellow of his eyes catches the dim light in a way that some might call magical. Jason hasn’t seen him without the shades or the makeup on in a long time.

 

“How’s things going by the way? With all that?” he nods at Heretic and Damian who are fiddling with a drone they plan on using to film the action. Well, Damian had been planning on using it to film the action, but Heretic seems to want to use it to dive bomb Apollo and M. Damian keeps snatching the controls away from his before the superheroes notice what he’s up to.

 

“To be honest, he scares the shit out of me sometimes.” Dick admits leaning close and whispering. “I...I don’t know what to do.”

 

“If he didn’t scare you I’d be worried. I’ve seen some of his crime scenes and they are...brutal.”

 

Dick looks at him questioningly and Jason explains. “He killed a British hero called ‘The Knight’, it was basically butchery. Part of what put Leviathan and Heretic in particular on Bruce’s shit list.”

 

Dick blinks and wraps his arms around his knees. “I wonder what you’d say about my crime scenes.” He murmurs.

 

Jason sighs and props himself up on his elbows. “What does it matter what I think? I’ve done bad shit too.”

 

Dick glances at him in surprise. “You’re my friend aren’t you? Of course I don’t want you to think badly of me.” He shudders. “They were bad, too. In case you were wondering. My crimes scenes...or some of them were.”

 

Jason just stares at him. He’s so different now from when they first met. The strange half-insane creature that had followed Batman home from patrol one night babbling about nursery rhymes, murder and vengeance. It’s easy to forget who he was. The Talon sent for the heads of anyone the Court sentenced to die.

 

Jason had used to go down to the cave and pace and rant about Bruce and the troubles he was having trying to take up the mantle during the time he’d been presumed dead. It’s funny to realize that Dick still knows all those secrets.

 

Jason sighs. “My crime scenes were bad too.” He admits softly. “At least you have the excuse that you were forced. What’s mine? I got pissed. I wasn’t thinking straight?”

 

“I heard you once threw a duffle bag of severed heads at the feet of the Gotham Crime bosses.” The deep voice makes Jason jump. Dick, annoyingly, is unaffected. Jason scowls up, way up, at the Heretic who stands over them with Damian perched on his shoulders.

 

“Holy Fuck. Someone your size should not be able to move that quietly.” Jason grumbles.

 

He can’t tell what Heretic’s expression is behind his shark tooth bandana but based on the eyebrows the big fuck is doing his rendition of Damian’s _I’m-so-much-smarter-than-you-peasant_ expression.

“It’s _un_ holy fuck to you shit stain, since I’m a Heretic and all.” The big clone snarls. “And did you dump a bag of heads at the feet of the Gotham crime lords or not?” 

  
Jason turns on Dick. “That is not an appropriate story to tell people about me!” He shouts.

 

“He didn’t tell me. Mother did. She said if it was true than you were living up to what she’ d taught you.”

 

Jason’s stomach twists at the mention of Talia. “It’s an exaggeration. I threw _a_ severed head at _a_ crime lord.”

 

Heretic nods appreciatively. “Seem effective.” He lowers himself to sit next to them, Damian still on his shoulders. “I hear you use guns.” He says the word ‘guns’ with significant relish. “Can you teach me?”  
  
Dick’s eyes are open so wide that the whites show all the way around the iris. Jason tries to stifle a snicker and asks “Why do you want to know?”

 

Heretic shrugs. “Guns are cool, and that way I can shoot birds.”

 

Dick’s expression becomes very intent and Jason knows that the last thing he wants is for Jason to teach Heretic how to shoot birds. Damian has his arms folded on top of his brother/clone/twin’s head and is watching the exchange with wary bemusement.

 

Jason huffs out a laugh. “Why on earth do you want to shoot birds?”

 

Heretic actually thinks about that. “Because it would be hard to do, and I like being good at things that are hard to do. And I’m already as good as a person can be with knives and fists.”  He raises a clenched first about the size of a Christmas ham. “I’ve killed people one handed lots of times. It’s boring to do something you can’t get better at.”

 

Jason stares at him for a long moment, before he finally smiles. “Alright, I’ll teach you how to shoot if you want. Can’t help with the bird thing but you’re a smart boy. You’ll figure it out.”

 

Dick’s look of complete betrayal is almost worth the way you can tell how much Heretic is beaming behind his mask.

 

Dick was once a dangerous terrible spectre of violence and vengeance, but Jason has no doubt that he has become a peaceful man. He sees the way he cringes at even the implication of violence and Damian has been on the phone with Jason every other day getting video game recommendations to help him in his futile quest to find a video game with enough action to please Heretic and little enough violence that Dick will stop freaking out.

 

But, Heretic is not peaceful. Heretic is frustrated and angry, and rightly so. He got screwed. Every deck has been stacked against him from the moment he was even a concept in Talia’s unhinged mind. All he’s ever known is violence, and that skill is it is what made Talia value his life.

Jason understands Heretic more than he understands Dick sometimes, because Jason knows he can’t stop what he’s doing anymore than Heretic can stop being who he is. Jason will never put his guns away for good the way that Dick has hung up his throwing knives and Damian has put his sword over the mantle.

 

In the distance Apollo and M finally settle whatever their fight’s been about and invite everyone back to Apollo’s apartment for some food. The night’s a write off as far as the video is concerned.

 

Jason hesitates at the door waiting for Dick once everyone else has gone in.

 

“I’m sorry about that, but I know a little something about being pissed and needing outlets, ok?”

 

Dick glares at him. “You’re not sorry you did it. You’re just sorry I’m upset.”

 

“That’s fair. You’re right.”

 

They stand facing each other for a long moment. Dick’s yellow eyes catch the light, and Jason wants to- he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants. He wants to hug him. He wants Dick to want him to. He wants to kiss him, or keep him. He wants to be the sort of person who doesn’t make Dick look like _that_. He just knows the person he always wants to see is Richard Grayson with his yellow eyes and ridiculous dance moves.

 

“If I kissed you, what would you do?”

 

Dick glares at him. “Jason, don’t be ridiculous.” There’s a long pause. Jason doesn’t move. “You’d never kiss someone like me and I’d never kiss someone like you. Don’t make fun of me Jason. It’s not a nice way to treat a friend.”

 

Dick tries to brush past Jason but some force of insanity takes hold of him and he reaches out and grabs the sleeve of Dick’s hoody. “If I kissed you, what would you do?” he repeats. “I’m not joking.”

 

Dick stares at him looking even more betrayed than he had before. He swallows and looks away. Finally he answers with another question. “Would you have killed me, if it had been up to you had been the one to find a Talon had snuck into the Batcave?”

 

Jason swallows. “I don’t know, Dick.” He answers, honestly. It's terrible to think that he could have killed Dick before any of this could have happened, that Damian would never have gotten better, and Jason would never have known...

 

Dick grimaces. “Yeah, I don’t know either, Jason.”

 

Dick brushes past him. Jason stands there and wonders what the hell just happened.

 

 

 

 

Damian is trying to figure out a little bit of one of the themes from Spirited Away on the piano while Jonah mutters to himself as he plays his video games with a very large pair of headphones on (the simplest solution is often the best) when Dick wanders over and sits down next to him. Automatically Damian shifts over and starts playing _Heart and Soul._  Dick picks up his part of the duet seamlessly.

 

“Jason threatened to kiss me the other night.” Dick blurts out.

 

Damian stops playing abruptly and turns to look at him. “What.”

 

Dick ducks his head. He’s wearing a softer look today, back to the Korean beauty products, all soft pastels and rose gold. “I think he was trying to be funny.”

 

Personally, Damian has seen the effect that Dick has on about 80% of the people he meets and he is quite sure that Jason Todd was not at all trying to be funny when he suggested he might want to kiss Richard Grayson.

 

“How would that be funny?” Damian asks.

 

Dick shrugs. “I don’t know. Jason just does things sometimes, and they don’t make sense to me.”

 

“Duffle bag of severed head.” Damian points out in agreement. “He was lying earlier by the way. I remember Mother talking about it. He definitely threw a duffle bag full of drug dealer’s heads at some crime bosses.”  
 

“Yeah. All superheroes are liars. It comes with the cape.”

 

Damian can’t actually argue with that. All the superheroes he knows _are_ liars, but correlation is not causation, after all.

 

“So, how did you respond?”

 

“I asked him if he would have killed me, if it had been him who found me and not Batman.”

 

“So, I take it you didn’t want him to kiss you?”

 

Dick stares at him. “ I don’t know. I’ve never been kissed. Not by someone who counted.”

 

Damian nods. “I know.”

 

Dick slumps over and leans his head on Damian’s shoulder. “Jason is a crime lord and a vigilante. He thinks he knows what’s right and wrong and he makes that choice for everyone around him.”  
  
“Yeah, but, well...haven’t you done that as well?”  


Dick looks at him and then looks away, blinking back tears. “I did what I did to save you and to save Jonah. I didn’t want to get your mother killed.” He folds his legs up and wraps his arms around them. “I don’t think it was right. I just...I didn’t know what else to do. What else would _work_.”

 

“I know. I don’t blame you, I just meant that Jason does what he thinks is right.”

 

“You can’t just _kill_ people who you think are bad. Look at us. We used to be bad. All of us. We were the worst people anyone could ever meet, and the last people lots of people ever did, and Jason would have killed us if we’d ever met him without Batman.”

 

“T-t” Damian scoffs. “He would have _tried._ ”

 

Dick has curled up into a tiny ball. “Not me. He’s bigger than me and stronger and he killed lots of the other Talons. He would have killed me if I hadn’t gone to Batman first.”

 

Damian looks at him sceptically. “And that means you’ll never let him kiss you?”

 

“It means I don’t know if he’s someone I _want_ to have kiss me.”

 

Damian thinks about that. “Why the dramatics then?”

 

Dick shrugs and Damian huffs. He pulls out his phone and hits one of the contacts.

 

“Hey, M?” He says once the other line has picked up. “Dick is having relationship draaama and I am obviously completely unqualified to comment on this topic but you somehow maintain a more or less successful relationship with a being who is both dramatically better than you and also  holds wildly different moral and political beliefs. Please come over here and explain how to do so to Grayson. Thank you. Goodbye.”

 

Damian hops off the stool. “The Midnighter will be arriving shortly.”

 

On cue, a Door opens and Midnighter strolls through. “Alright, whose ass do I have to kick?”

 

“Hey, Damian.” Apollo murmurs from where he’s leaning against a wall on the other side of the Door. “How you been?  Wanna hang out while these guys parkour their feelings out?”

 

Damian glances at Jonah who looks at the entire mess and just sncreams. “TAKE IT TO A DIFFERENT ROOM! I’M ABOUT TO BEAT THIS LEVEL! AND I NEED TO CONCENTRATE!”

 

Dick and M duck into Dick’s bedroom and Damian shrugs. “Sure, Apollo. We can ‘hang out’." he makes air quotes with his fingers, like Jason had taught him. "I have nothing better to do.”

 

Apollo grins, and it’s like the sun rise.

 

 

 

M must have been coming from Apollo’s place and not his pocket-dimension apartment because the room Damian steps into has a magnificent view of the Pacific ocean far far in the distance.

 

Apollo smiles. He’s in sweatpants and a white t-shirt. “Want to help me with my plants? Dick mentioned you were really into agriculture.”

 

“I’m interested in food systems and their development.” Damian corrects.

 

Apollo smiles again. “Well, this might be less interesting for you than I had hoped. I am trying to grow some stuff from kitchen scraps though, you might be interested in that, maybe?”

 

Damian shrugs. “That’s alright. I spend most of my time these days implementing strategies to help Jonah integrate with human society. He never takes my interests into account either.”  
  
Apollo shoots him a cautious look. “And how is that going?”

 

Damian grimaces. “He is resistant to the majority of my plans, but I do think we’ve genuinely bonded.”

 

“Huh. Good.” Apollo’s face takes on a mischievious expression. “So, what’s Dickie-bird gotten into that he needs M of all people to talk him off a ledge?”

 

Damian pauses. “Jason suggested he might have romantic inclinations towards him, and Dick responded by asking Jason whether he would have murdered him if he’d encountered the Talon independent of a Batman investigation.

 

Apollo's mouth falls open and then he puts his head in his hands. "That’s not... the answer I was hoping for.”

 

“No.” Damian agrees. “It’s very much not the answer anyone was hoping for.”

 

Apollo’s plant collection is very nice, and leans more towards arid plants than tropical ones which from what little research Damian has done is an anomaly among houseplant cultivators.

 

Apollo carefully explains each plant’s name, and needs to Damian as he demonstrates the proper way to care for them.

 

Damian watches Apollo from the corner of his eye.

 

“You destroyed Infinity Island, and you killed my mother.”

 

“Yes, I did both of those things.”

 

“You must be incredibly powerful.”

 

Apollo glances over at him and smiles brightly. “Oh, trust me. I am.”

  
Damian nods and mists an air plant. “M mentioned that killing my mother was the first act of superheroics you performed in a some time.”

 

“That’s true.”

 

“Why? You could do anything. Dick says you’re as powerful as Superman.”

  
  
“I don’t like it very much, and I’ve gotten hurt real bad doing it a bunch of times. So, I don’t do it anymore.”

“You? Got hurt? _You?_   Are you even physically capable of being hurt?”

 

“If I’m depleted enough, yeah. And, great power invites great challenge. People see a person like me and I don’t know. There’s something about me that makes them want to crack me open and stomp me into a thousand little pieces. That or M’s pissed someone off and they decide the best way to get to him is through me.”

 

“That sounds aggravating. If you’re going to be tortured it must add insult ot injury for it not to even be your pain that is the objective.”

 

“You know what? It really really is.”  


“So, you just...chose to stop helping?”

 

“Basically, yeah.”

 

Damian stares at Apollo. “My father thinks it’s a moral imperative for those with power to use that power to help others. My mother thought that the strong by the laws of nature must use their powers to subjugate and control the weak.”

 

“Yeah, you should ignore both of those ideas. They are both looney toones.”

 

Damian stares down at the cheap linoleum floor. He’s not sure he’s ever seen linoleum in person before.

 

“I thought I didn’t mind that I would never be good enough for them. That I’d always be a disappointment. I didn’t care because i was giving up and running away and I’d never have to face it. But, Father wants to have family dinners and Todd apparently wants to kiss Grayson and that means I’m never ever going to be able to get away. I’m always going to have to live with my inadequacy in the role that I was literally created for.”

 

Apollo puts his  watering can down and leads Damian out onto the balcony. “That’s not true.”

  
Damian sniffles. “Isn’t it? I’m not able to be what they wanted. I lack the psychological fortitude to be a member of my Father’s crusade. I lack the ruthlessness to be what my mother wanted, and now... now I think I’m not even capable of being normal enough to successfully follow Grayson’s desired lifestyle.”

 

Damian isn’t sure why he’s sharing this with his mother’s murderer of all people, other than perhaps because Apollo is a god-like being who chooses to grow lettuce from kitchen scraps in a window box and doesn’t hardly ever save the world. He has no room to judge Damian for not being what he was supposed to be. 

  
“I was raised to conquer the world, or at least to replace Batman! I was raised to be a killer and instead I’m helping my evil twin create meal schedules?! What is wrong with me!?”

 

Apollo crouches down and puts his hand on Damian’s shoulder. “I’m going to tell you something right now, and I’m not going to sugar coat it because I don’t think you’re that type of kid, okay?”

 

Damian nods and sniffles.

 

“For some people sometimes it’s not a choice.” He takes Damian’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. The skin looks yellower than normal next to Damian’s pale arm. “Sometimes, you just do what you can do because you can’t...you can’t do anything else and stay sane, but you and me? We’re not like that. For us it’s a choice. And if you want to choose to help your brother become a master chef, that’s as valid as any fucking other thing you could do. Okay?”  

 

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

 

Apollo sighs and looks at him. “I was made...same as Midnighter. Different people, different methods but, I was a weapon. They wanted a superman, and they were good. Very good. I’m almost unstoppable, and M is convinced I’m stronger than Superman but I think vigilante-ism is fucking stupid, okay?  I think the Justice League is stupid. I want to save the world Damian, I do,  but I don’t think supervillains is what it needs saving from. So I make the choice I can live with.”

 

 “What can you live with?” Damian asks.

 

Apollo gestures to his apartment. “This for now, because I know if I start trying to save the world I’ll go too far.” He leans back against the railing and watches the sun going down. “I’ve worked out how long it would take me to destroy the major oil rigs currently in operation. I know where every active one is. If M agreed to a diversion I bet I could burn them all and blow up the majority of fracking sites before the Justice League could stop me.”

 

Damian stares at him open mouthed.  

  
“That’s what I would do if I really wanted to save the world.” Apollo bites his lip and Damian is reminded of Grayson. “But, I don’t know if I could live with it afterwards if I was wrong. Or made mistakes. I’ve made mistakes before and people paid for it. Me, for a start, but...other people too.”

 

“So you do nothing.”

 

“Yeah. The Heroics the justice league go in for are stupid and vain, but really saving the world? That would cost too much. So, I do what I can as a person, not a god. I guess that makes me a coward.”

 

Damian perches on the railing and swings his legs over the drop. “I don’t think so. I think that makes you brave.”

 

Apollo smiles gratefully. “You really think so?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Remind me every now and then, will you? M thinks it’s a waste, and more often than not I agree with him it’s just...I’m some stupid Pollack farm kid, who am I to decide the fate of the world?”

 

“So, you grow collects plants and grow lettuce in window boxes”                                                                                

 

“So I grow plants in a window box and I help people who come to me for help. I don’t go looking for trouble and trouble finds me well enough on it’s own without my putting on a stupid cape and flying around looking for it, but when trouble does find me? I end it. I kill it. I burn it out of existence till there’s no sign it was ever there.”

 

“My father would say that makes you no better than them.”

 

Apollo shakes his head. “M says we’re _not_ better than them. We are what we were made, but we get to choose who we’re aimed at. It’s a judgement call. It’s probably why he stays small, doesn’t get involved with the JL and world saving nonsense- control the damage radius if he makes the wrong call. ”  Apollo looks into nothing for a second. “If either of us make the wrong call.”

 

“Are you saying I should forget everything my parents taught me and just be...ordinary?”

 

Apollo grimaces. “I’m saying... if you decide that’s what you have to do to live with yourself, or if you decide that the way you can fix a little of what you broke when you were young- younger, and stupid and you trusted the wrong people is by running around and using the skills they taught you to try and stop people from getting hurt, that doesn’t necessarily make you sick or broken. Not from where I’m standing.”

 

“It’s not just my father. Dick doesn’t like killing either. He hates it. More than anything.”

 

Apollo nods. “I know. I’m not saying there won’t be consequences whatever you decide. I’m just saying that you’re a smart kid Damian. You don’t have to be like me or M if that’s not gonna work for you, and it probably would be better for you and the world if you used that big brain for something other than supervillains- either becoming or thwarting.  But, if you can’t or if you can’t right now, then...that’s okay too.”

 

He reaches up and cups Damian’s cheeks. He’s very earnest, this young man who looks and feels like he swallowed the sun. “It is a choice, for things like us. Everyone tries to say it’s not. That we’ve been made killers and there’s no going back, or it’s heinous and we have no choice but to stop, but...it’s a choice.”

 

He pats Damian’s cheeks and stands up, wandering over to pick up his watering can again. 

 

“Grayson says...he thinks that if he’d met a vigilante who was willing to kill than there’s no way he’d still be alive, because he would have deserved it. They’d have killed him and they wouldn’t have been wrong, so killing at all has to be wrong because he got better. He was a dead assassin and he changed, so everyone can. Anyone can. It’s wrong for anyone to make that judgement call.”

 

Apollo leans on the railing of his balcony and the wind whips his long hair around his face. “That’s his choice. That’s his call, and I respect it. He doesn’t want to kill. He feels like he can’t kill in the same way that M feels he has to.” He shrugs. “What do you feel Damian?”

 

“I feel like one answer has to be right and one answer has to be wrong!”

 

Apollo looks over his shoulder at him. “It might be. There is a Hell, you know. I’ve been there. M fought the devil for me. Maybe that’s where he’ll go when this is all over.” He looks out over the city again. “But, that’s death. This is about what you can live with.”

 

Damian follows him out and leans on the railing. “Shouldn’t this be the part where you tell me I’m only twelve and I shouldn’t be worrying about this.”

 

Apollo huffs. “I wish I could.” He glances down at Damian. “But that was never an option you had was it?”

 

Damian rests his chin on the railing and tries not to feel annoyed that standing like this his chin is even with Apollo’s elbow.

 

“No. I guess not.”

 

“So, decide, or don’t, or change your mind each time. Like you said people change. Just, make the choice you can live with today, and go from there.”

 

“I don’t want to have to ask the question. Does that count as an answer?”

 

Apollo looks down at him and smiles. “Sure, kid. If there’s no right answer than there can’t be a wrong one, right?”

 

“I think that’s a logical fallacy.”

 

“You and your fancy book learning.” Apollo drawls with a fake southern accent.

 

Damian rests his head on his folded arms. “Do you think Jason and Dick will work it out?”

 

Apollo shrugs and smiles wryly. He smiles a lot, Damian realizes, it’s something else he and Dick have in common.  “They’re smart. I think even if Dick never let’s Jason kiss him, they’ll be okay. “

 

“Do you think you and M are going to work it out?”

 

Apollo pauses and looks down at Damian. For a second he looks really sad, but then he smiles wryly and you’d never know he wasn’t happy. He smiles a lot, Damian realizes. It’s something he and Dick have in common. “You noticed that the other night then?”

 

Damian nods. “Everybody did.”

 

Apollo huffs. “Of course they did. Here’s the thing M and I are the loves of each other's stupid lives. That’s never gonna change no matter what happens. So, no matter how things work out...we’ll work them out.”

 

Damian shakes his head. “That’s not an answer, either.”

 

Apollo picks up his watering can. “Well it’s the best I got.”

 

Damian looks up at him. “You’re very nice you know. How did you fall in love with someone like M?”

 

Apollo leans down and whispers in Damian's ear. “The secret is he’s way nicer than he pretends to be and I’m way more of an asshole than I pretend to be.”

 

Damian chuckles. “Okay.”

 

“You gonna be alright?”

 

“Probably?”

 

“Good enough.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...it's been two months and I'm genuinely sorry guys. Writers block and real life hit me in the face very hard. 
> 
> Apollo's anti-vigilante stance is mostly from the Authority run where he and M are broken up and he basically makes fun of the fact that M is a vigilante whenever anyone brings it up. 
> 
> I don't know why I always had the idea of Apollo and Damian discussing morals together to try and figure their lives out, but it's always been in the plan. I guess cause they're some of the only characters who are actually open to both sides of the argument? I don't know. This chapter also low-key ties in to an Apollo-centric stand alone story that I have half-written. So, if anyone's interested in that let me know and i may actually finish it!
> 
> Anyway, I hope those of you who have been waiting are satisfied with the developments. There's probably going to be one more chapter and an epilogue. Writing endings is hard. I remember now why I have a fic with three epilogues.


	16. Give Up On Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonah bonds with Dick. Clark Kent throws a barbecue. Things work out in the end.

Jonah is trying to be better. It’s hard though. He wasn’t built for everyday life. He doesn’t fit. Quite literally. It makes things not seem real sometimes. People are so teeny tiny. Like they were dolls, and he was living in a dollhouse, and it wasn’t like home at all. He’s not the size of a person. Damian orders his clothing for him special. It has to be custom made.

 

The things that he remembers...the early parts- the world had been big enough. Bigger than him. Full of...people. He’d killed those people. The first three days. He’d killed the whale and then he’d killed anyone else and even now  he doesn’t know why. Had someone told him to? Had he been afraid? He didn’t know. It’s probably the sort of thing a person should know, or at least feel bad about not knowing.

 

His dreams are full of whale music. The only things in the world that are bigger than him. Elephants too, maybe, or rhinos. He’s not sure how big rhinos are really. He’s never seen either of those things. But he remembers whales. Or at least the corpse of one particular whale.

 

Dick has seen elephants. There had been a couple in the circus he’d lived in before the world became terrible for him.

 

Dick talks to him sometimes. In the night when Damian is asleep and the whales in Heretic’s head keep him up. Dick doesn’t sleep. Almost ever, he had said. The dead are never sleeping, Dick had told him, that was just a lie people told and Heretic had nodded and understood it was a secret he was sharing.

 

Dick doesn’t dance at night. He worries too much about waking Damian up. He watches movies mostly and does and redoes his makeup. Jonah doesn’t like movies. They’re stories that make sense of things that can’t ever be made sense of. More lies and more words than he cares to give a thought to. It all confuses him. He has trouble understanding what’s happening or what they’re saying.

 

The world is made of lies and words and Heretic hates both things. But, Dick likes the movies where there’s music and dancing and those don’t feel like lies so much. Music can’t lie after all.  

 

When Dick was young he’d loved the elephants and thought that they loved him. Maybe they did, but it was cruel to have them. They were in pain. They weren’t supposed to be there. They weren’t supposed to be treated like that.

 

But, Dick had loved them. He had said once, that he didn’t know if he knew then what he knew now whether he would be unselfish enough to want them to go away.

 

Jonah had told him they wouldn’t have wanted to leave him, because he was so good at being kind to angry dangerous hurt things.

 

Dick had smiled. No one smiles like Dick Grayson.

 

It’s harder to be angry at night, when he has to be still and silent so as not to wake Damian. He could play video games, he supposes, and Dick would probably let him. Dick never puts up a fight about things like that, not with him. Heretic scares him too much for that. But, if he played video games Dick would go back to his room and he wouldn’t sit with him and talk.

 

There’s a movie Dick likes. It’s about the circus, and it’s all a lie, but Dick says it’s the truest story about the circus he’s ever seen, because that was how the circus was supposed to _feel_.

 

There was a lot of dancing in it and a lot of songs and not much talking, so Jonah understands it better than most movies. Dick leans against him and whispers in his ear all the way through, things Jonah mostly doesn't understand but which he knows are very important. 

 

_“Those men are Cheng and Eng Bunker they were Thai acrobats who were born conjoined at the chest. They’d performed for the king of Siam long before they ever came to America. They were the most famous circus performers in the world for a long time.”_

_“The giant there- the Irish giant? He actually went to England with the troupe and met a woman from another circus while he was there, and they got married in Westminster Cathedral and Queen Victoria came to their wedding- the Giant and the Giantess and she came to live in the Circus with him, and when it caught fire she threw a mattress down the stairs to smother the flames and helped carry people to safety.”_

_“This is nothing, at one point Barnum’s circus had forty elephants, can you imagine?”_

_“The circus wasn’t integrated, except the freak show. Not for a really long time.”_

_“The big acts all saved enough money to buy land and retire to it. Cheng and Eng had a plantation and 22 children between them, you know?”_

_“The circus used to open it’s tour every year in Madison Square Gardens, and they’d have three rings and acts going on all at once. There was a tiger trainer who had twelve tigers in her act, and never once got hurt.”_

 

“Can you fly like the girl in pink?” Jonah asks one night as their watching the movie yet again, and Dick sighs. “No, it’s different what I do, but almost like that. Almost, yeah. I taught Damian too, a while ago.”

 

“Could you teach me?” Jonah asks, and pretends not to be hopeful.

 

“You’re too big. You could be a catcher though. Like the part where she falls? And it’s on purpose and the people are their to catch her?  You’re strong enough you could probably catch someone by yourself. I bet it would look cool. Some tricks you need someone really really strong to be able to pull off.”

 

Jonah nods. “Huh. Can you teach me that?”

 

Dick shrugs. “I guess? I’d have to find somewhere with the right space and equipment though.

 

“Where did you teach Damian?” Jonah asks.

 

There’s a long pause. “Bruce Wayne has a gym.” Dick finally admits.

 

“Huh. That’s a thought.”

 

Dick shushes him while the big final song gets song and the last dance gets danced. The line that made Jonah sob uncontrollably the first time he’d seen the movie gets said: _Our own mothers were ashamed of us._

 

“Will you ask him about it? When you have dinner? I know you’re all having a big dinner soon.” He asks once the music stops.   
  
Dick pauses. “You could come and ask him yourself.”

Jonah snorts. “No.”

 

 

 

 

Dinner rolls around and Dick paces and dreads. Damian just sits silent and still and watches.

It’s silly. Dick had agreed to what was halfway between a peace treaty and a custody arrangement. They’re going to get M to Door them to Kansas, where they’ll eat at one of Bruce Wayne’s very few friends’ house.Then Bruce will take a plane either private or bat-themed and go back to Gotham and Dick will call M and they’ll Door back to Madison.   
  
It’s ridiculous and overly elaborate and the only reason Dick doesn’t feel like he’s going to scream is because it’s _Kansas,_ what could possibly happen in Kansas? And that means Bruce is right which is just even more aggravating.

 

M opens the Door. They wander briefly through his apartment and out into a warm afternoon under a big sky. Apollo darts out after them suddenly holding a pie. “I’m coming with.”

 

M stares open mouthed, betrayed and enraged framed by the edges of the hole in reality. He scowls. “Fine.” The Door blinks out of existence. 

 

Damian stares up in shock. “Why on earth would you want to subject yourself to this?” 

  
Apollo stares down at him. “My boyfriend and I are fighting and he has access to teleportation tech. The only way to enforce boundaries is to be around someone he wants to avoid more than he wants to see me.”

  
  
Dick scoffs and starts walking. “I’m sorry, but you can fly to the sun- don’t act like this is your only option.”

  
  
“Don’t act like M wouldn’t almost die in the cold vacuum of space just to prove a point.” Apollo shoots back. 

 

Damian snickers. “That is certainly true.”

 

Dick glares at both of them. “M was my friend first.” He reminds them. “That means I’m automatically on his side for whatever...” He waves loosely at Apollo. “...this mess is.”

 

“This mess is the fact that I got all of our old friends when we broke up the first time, and even though we’re back together they haven’t changed their ‘Anti-M’ stance.”

 

Dick puts his fingers in his ears. “Lalala- I’m not listening, it’s none of my business.”

 

Damian purses his lips and looks between the two of them. “Well, I want to know.”

 

Dick scowls, but doesn’t do anything when they fall behind in whispered conversation. He’s a little bit worried about having introduced them. He’s not sure the world stands much of a chance at all against their combined forces. Wait, scratch that. He knows the world doesn’t stand a chance against their combined forces, and he really hopes Damian pays attention in his mandatory philosophy lectures. 

 

Dinner when they finally get to the Farmhouse in the middle of nowhere that Bruce has chose, is surprisingly good. It’s a barbecue in the back yard, like they have on TV. There’s punch and weird little bite sized snack-things and corn on the cob and lights strung up around the deck. Dick takes a few tiny tiny nibbles of everything and tries to ignore the way it sits in his stomach like a rock. It’s too tempting to resist after all.

 

Apollo and their host stare at each other with incredible intensity and never get within more than 10 feet of each other, but other than that everyone seems to actually get along.

 

Their host has a son a few years younger than Damian, who, to everyone’s quiet shock, is completely undeterred by Damian’s attitude and somehow manages to convince Damian to play tag out in the cornfield.

 

Dick just stares open mouthed as Damian scampers around shrieking and laughing with a nine year old.

 

He’s vindicated when he catches Bruce’s expression out of the corner of his eye and sees that he looks just as surprised and amazed as Dick feels.

 

Bruce brought the whole family, and Dick is delighted to finally really get to meet the famous Duke, architect of this little peace summit, and Damian’s secret hero.

 

Apparently he’s planning to move out of the manor soon to stay with another family who travels less. He’s level headed and reasonable and smart is a way that moves on the lines of practical ingenuity rather than large bat-themed engineering projects.

 

He’s charming. He doesn’t even blink at Dick’s sunglasses and umbrella. Dick thinks Duke Thomas might be his hero too.

 

Of course he doesn’t manage to dodge Jason all evening, the big man sneaks up on his while he’s distracted chasing Ms. Lane’s cat who is hiding under the porch.

 

“Hey.”

 

Dick looks over his shoulder at Jason who is looking a bit contrite, but not actually that apologetic. Dick scowls at him. He has no doubt that Jason only agreed to come to this dinner so he could badger Dick about what happened at the drone shoot.

 

“I thought about calling, or just swinging by the apartment but...I wasn’t sure you’d take that well.”  Jason doesn’t meet his eye and scuffs his foot along the ground.

 

Dick shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and straightens up. He rocks back and forth on his feet for a second before he finds the necessary words.

 

“That was a good call.” He finally replies and bites his lip.

 

He’s wearing purple lipstick today. It’s flawless even if it does clash with his neon yellow hoodie. Not exactly formal dinner attire, but he’d wanted to test to make sure Bruce had meant what he’d said about getting along and accepting each other or whatever. He knows nothing offends Mr. Wayne more than fluorescents and bad colour combinations.

 

“I didn’t-“ Jason huffs. “I didn’t think before I spoke. I didn’t mean to fuck things up. I just-“ He sighs and leans back against the porch railing. “I just wanted to be the sort of person who could make you happy.”

 

Dick glances down at him. “You do. Sometimes, and what does that have to do with kissing me?”   


“What does kissing you have to do with killing you?” Jason shoots back. 

  
  
“Everything. Don’t be stupid. You know that.”

 

Jason swallows. “You’re my favourite person, Dick.”

 

Dick snorts. “I doubt that.”

 

“No! I...what I mean is, well...You’re the person I always want to see, or who I wish was around. You make me smile and you don’t annoy me and when things suck they always suck less with you and I just realized that as we were standing outside your building and then I was looking at you and I just wanted-“ He sighs and shrugs again. “I guess I wanted to be that person for you if I could.”

 

Dick glares at him. “So, you didn’t actually want to kiss me? You just thought it would make me happy?”

  
  
“I mean, partly, and partly I just wanted to kiss you.”

 

“That’s stupid.”

 

“No, it’s not!” Jason tries not to sound wounded and defensive but he kind of is. He doesn’t know if he’s ever actually admitted to being in like-like with a person before. Not in so many words. God, isn’t that an embarrassing thought?

 

Dick looks down on him. “Come on. We’re arguing about Jonah learning to kill things with guns and you decide to drop that bomb?”

  
  
“There was no deciding, the realization kinda...caught me off guard and then I word vomited all over you.”

  
  
“That is an incredibly accurate metaphor for what happened, yes.”

 

Jason huffs out a half hearted laugh. Dick always starts talking like Damian when he gets mad or confused. Jason can’t blame him. He’s pretty damn confused right now too.

If there’s one thing Jason has proven himself incapable of handling in any sort of reasonable way, it’s his own damn feelings. He does dramatic over the top things instead- like letting criminals fall to their deaths, or running off to Ethiopia or becoming a drug lord,...or apparently asking his, (and oh yeah, Dick is probably his best friend too, isn’t he, that’s a little fucking bleak?), in the middle of an argument whether he’d be interested in maybe making out.

God, Jason is such a fuck-up.

 

Dick just looks at him. “I don’t think it would be nice, kissing me. I’m dead after all. It would probably be weird. I don’t think I have a normal amount of saliva.”

 

That’s not a no. Jason steps closer and smiles hopefully.“I’m willing to risk it. It would be an experiment.” 

  
Dick ducks his head and looks away. “Not to mention the...other stuff wouldn’t even be an option.”

 

Jason pauses and frowns. “I’m not- it’s not...I mean, if you’re not into that then obviously I would never-“

 

“No. It doesn’t...I’m _dead._ It doesn’t _work, okay?._ ” He folds himself up, and hops up onto the railing and is suddenly level with Jason. “I don’t even know what I would be interested in. What I would like. It’s never...” He bites his lip again. Too hard, Jason sees the flesh break, and makes an involuntary noise. He tries to reach out, but Dick leans away and folds his arms up over his head. Jason drops his hand.

 

“It was never an option.” Jason finishes for him.   


Dick shrugs. “Someone kissed me once. One of my trainers. She felt sorry for me. I think she knew I was good enough, and she thought you know...I shouldn’t have to die without even being kissed.”

 

“That doesn’t count.” Jason replies automatically, hoping that it never went further. He already hates ever having to picture Dick as he had been for most of his life- tortured and trained and still fucking alive down there, in the goddamn sewers and how had no one ever come and fucking saved him, huh? Where had Superman been when Dick was twelve or seventeen or twenty?  Where had Batman been? _Where had god damn Jason been?_

 

Dick nods. “I know.”

 

“I’ve had sex.” Jason blurts out. Dick looks at him, unimpressed. “With a few different people. It never meant anything much, except that we were both a little lonely and, ya know, pretty hot.” Dick doesn’t know though.

 

Dick glares at him. “I don’t care.”

 

Jason hates himself sometimes. “I meant, I never cared about them. It was never important. I care a lot about you, and whatever we have, friendship, or whatever it’s important. I just...” He sighs. “You’re my favourite person.” He repeats. “My absolute very favourite.”  He stares at his shoes. He’d come out here to Superman’s god damn farm because he’d wanted to make a gesture. He’d wanted Dick to know this was about him, about Jason, not Bruce or the Red Hood or the Talon. Just Dick and Jason, and whatever they are to each other.

 

Dick hops down from the railing. “You’re not my favourite person.” He tells him without either of them looking at each other. He slides a step closer and leans his head on Jason’s shoulder. “You’re pretty good, though.”   


Jason nods, and pretends he doesn’t feel like crying. It’s probably the answer he deserves considering he’s worked out the answer to the question Dick had answered the other night: Yes. 

_“Would you have killed me, if it had been up to you had been the one to find a Talon had snuck into the Batcave?”_

Jason tilts his body to press against Dick, just a little. He closes his eyes. “I’d have done it.” He admits fighting against the pressure of tears building in his throat. “If I’d been the one to come down and find a Talon in the Batcave. I’d probably have killed you, or at least tried.”

 

Dick lets out a long breath. “I know.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“I forgive you, and I’ll let you teach Jonah how to shoot, if you really want to do that.”

  
  
“Oh. Thanks, I guess.”

 

“You’re welcome.” After a second he straightens up. He smiles and Jason, and pecks him on the cheek. “You’re a nice boy, Jason Todd. I’m glad we’re friends.” He tells him earnestly and Jason can’t help but wonder which sit-com he’d picked that particular line up from.

 

He jumps back up onto the railing and runs off back towards the party.

 

Jason sniffles and smiles when Dick turns around to moonwalk when he gets back to the part of the patio where the tables are.

 

“Ahem.” Jason jumps and turns, with a sense of horror movie slow motion dread, to see Damian standing in front of him with his arms crossed.

 

Jason grimaces and holds his hands up in a futile attempt to defend himself. “Look, kid-“ he tries to explain but Damian cuts him off.

 

“I have no interest in learning any details about what I just witnessed. Know that if you harm Dick in any kind of serious way Apollo is able to dispose of all traces of a corpse, and has a relatively flexible moral code, as you are no doubt aware.”

  
  
“Yup. I’ve...witnessed that little trick.”

 

“Good.”

 

There’s a pause. “We good?” Jason asks hopefully.

 

Damian narrows his eyes in contemplation and Jason knows he’s screwed. “In exchange for my never mentioning this matter again, you will convince Father to purchase another cow for me, and to have Batcow relocated from her sanctuary to this farm.”

 

Jon skips over. “Dami met the cows!” he shouts. “He really liked them! He wants to join 4-H!!!”

 

Jason blinks and decides there are some battles where the smart move is to concede defeat. “Deal.”

 

Damian smiles. “Excellent.”

 

 

 

Late that night they wander down the road together. Dick is carrying Damian on his back, the kid’s all tired out from looking at the cows and actually acting like a kid.

 

Apollo is sort of smiling to himself, and emitting that faint glow which Dick has has learned means he’s just...happy.

 

“It was a nice night.” Dick says at last.

 

“Yeah. I’m really glad I came. I needed that.”

 

Dick thinks of the weird stand-off Apollo had had with Clark Kent all night. It had definitely not looked like his idea of fun.  “Are things with M really that bad?” he asks.

 

Apollo shrugs, and dims slightly. “We’ll get through it. We always do.”

 

“Ok.”

 

“What about you and Jason? Don’t think I didn’t catch you talking.”   


Dick sighs. “Who knows? Everyone just...feels too much and has no idea what they’re doing.”

 

Apollo laughs. “That should be the title of my memoirs.”

 

 

 

It takes Dick two more family dinners before he works up the courage to ask Bruce about using his gymnastic facilities. Bruce agrees of course, because it’s his goal in life to lure Dick and Damian into his house as much as possible.

 

They don’t mention Jonah to him, at Jonah’s request. Though Tim has stumbled across him mid-routine once, so they probably only have a matter of weeks before Bruce finds out and they’ll have to deal with that particular nasty revelation.

 

Jonah really is good at catching people though. They do towers, and pyramids, and death drops. He’s only sort of okay at anything that involves too much moving, but Jason takes him skeet shooting and to Dick’s everlasting horror it turns out he’s a natural with guns.

 

 

  

The legal entanglements of Damian’s assault charge, coupled with his failure to appear and his assumed identity are as unfortunate as predicted. Of course, Timothy Drake-Wayne’s sudden appearance like a malevolent corporate sprite and his coterie of shark lawyers provides some protection for Damian even as it raises questions in the eyes of the prosecuting attorney and the judge.

 

It’s to Damian’s own surprise that he finds himself outing his false identity. He doesn’t want to be a Wayne anymore, and he really doesn't want to be an Al Ghul but he also doesn’t want to be a lie, a fake name and a fake person. He’s proven he can’t be anyone but himself. He’d like to be Robin Smith, harmless boy genius more than anything in the world, but he’s not. He’s an assassin and a killer and he was grown in a tank and his brothers are monsters every last one of them (except maybe Duke) and Damian is a monster too. He’s not Dick who’s personality is a quicksilver ever changing thing that moulds itself to fit whatever environment he finds himself in. Damian can only ever be himself.

 

He stil doesn’t out himself as a Wayne though. There’s no need to get Bruce involved, and Dick’s identity isn’t ever called into question.

 

The judge ultimately is convinced not to make an example of him, most likely because of the intensity of how pathetic a sight he makes in the court, very small and all alone, only Dick and the lawyer. No friends, no family, no one to call upon as a character witness. Also, probably his money. Money always helps in moments like these. 

 

He is assigned probation, community service and mandatory counselling.

 

It’s not bad, and he gets out it a set of real documents. The first he’s ever had, since even the ones his mother had provided to journey to America had been fake, and the identity created by his Father had been a forgery.

 

These are state issued. Real as the anything anyone else has. _Damian Haffid Xuffash,_ permanent resident of the US of A.

 

The Dean of Admissions just about faints when Damian comes in with the new paperwork. It’s gotten to the point where Damian wonders if he should transfer to a different university as a compassionate gesture to the poor man.

 

 

 

Damian starts his manadatory counselling and group therapy. Both are result in more thrown objects than either Jonah or Dick care to ever experience again, but he makes a friend at group: a boy named Colin who’s also originally from Gotham.

 

He’s Damian’s first real friend. Dick’s so proud he could cry, and Jonah makes a point of being there to pick Damian up at least a couple times, so as to intimidate anyone who might think to do him harm. It’s a pretty sweet gesture, coming from Jonah.

 

Dick finally starts doing his schoolwork, and working towards his yoga teacher’s certification again.

 

Tim starts dropping by unexpectedly to lounge dramatically on the couch. No one knows what that’s about and they’re all much too scared to ask.

 

Damian manages to make his second ever friend, Jon Kent a bright exuberant boy who's never had a bad thing happen to him in his entire life. Everyone stares at him in wonder whenever he visits. They’d all privately come to believe that such people didn’t exist, but here he was and it was...wonderful to meet someone who the world hadn’t managed to fuck over, not even a little bit.

Damian is outraged when Jon is more interested in playing video games with Jonah than exploring the city with him. Jon Kent becomes Jonah’s first ever friend.  

_(Afterwards, a family meeting is called to make a pact promising to ruthlessly destroy anyone who thinks they might get away with hurting Jon Kent)_

 

Duke starts following Dick on instagram and commenting on all his posts.

 

Dick finds a pair of sunglasses shaped like yellow stars and wears them everywhere to an obnoxious degree.

 

M and Apollo announce they’re engaged.

 

The parkour video with Apollo and Dick gets more than 250 000 views on Youtube.

 

 

Damian follows through on his threat to join 4-H and when Bruce Wayne finds himself squinting into the noonday sun at a county fair as he son paraded a cow around the ring he didn’t know who to blame.

 

His first instinct, as usual, is to blame himself. Ater all, he was the one who'd thought it would be a good idea to 1) befriend a corn-raised Kryptonian, 2) have sex with Talia Al Ghul, 3) introduce Damian to Jonathan Kent, and in retrospect given Damian long term issues with traditional learning environments, it made sense that he would connect with an organisation whose motto was: learn to do by doing.

 

The fact that Damian had begun to spend time in Kansas had actually come as a relief to most of the him, after all Damian the scope of any possible disaster was limited by both the relatively low population of the state and the close proximity of not one but two major members of the Justice League.

 

Not to mention that Kansas, as the home of Bruce’s friends, put Damian on what Bruce considered to be his home turf was a pretty good upside. After all, Clark was an excellent father, as well as friend and Bruce figured that as Damian’s good opinion of Clark grew, than his good opinion of Bruce might be buoyed up simply by association.

 

That Damian was actually managing to sort of bond with someone who was nominally in his peer group, and not an assassin had also seemed very promising.

 

And well, he'd been at the Kent family farm, so they'd all thought, what was the worse that could happen?

 

This, as it turned out. Bruce thought bitterly, as he sweated in the August sun next to Dick, in uncomfortable plastic seating, as Damian proudly led some sort of pedigreed cow he'd purchased around the ring, while the locals stared at Dick, who was dressed like an avant-garde Italian widow in a giant sun hat, enormous sunglasses and purple lipstick as though he and Bruce were the space aliens.  

 

Bruce squints at the creature. “Is that the same type as Batcow?” he murmurs to Dick, who shrugs, and whispers back. “I don't think so?”

 

Bruce squints and tilts his head to the side. “It's not spotted like a milk cow?”

 

Damian trots his cow to the centre of the ring where a judge inspects it.

 

As far as Bruce can tell, Damian's cow is prettier than the majority of cows, but whether that is the breed or this particular cow, he couldn't say.

 

He rests his chin on his hand. This had already been a long day and there was as yet no end in sight.

 

Something indiscernible was announced over the loud speaker, and Bruce had to suppress a groan as Jon Kent practically skipped into the ring leading his cow.

 

“Tell me this isn't Damian's usual overcompetitiveness gone out of control again?”

 

Dick's smile has edged past forced and into desperate. “Oh I wish, last week he was on the phone trying buy himself a small farm quote 'as a start up'.

 

“Why?!” Bruce asks in complete bewilderment.

 

Dick glances at him and Bruce can see the whites all the way around his eyes. “Apparently he takes the 4-H pledge very seriously, and he's interpreting it to mean he should single-handedly restructure the entire global food system.”

 

Bruce hides his face behind his program with a groan. He hadn't known until today that cow shows had programs. He hadn't known until today that cow shows existed.

 

"What is the pledge?”

 

“I pledge my head to cleared thinking, my heart to greater loyalty, my hands to larger service, and my health to better living for my club, my community, my country and my world.”

 

“Oh shit. That's like giving him permission to reorder the world order to his whim.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

"Who thought it was a good idea to take him to this club?”

 

Dick nods significantly towards where Superman is sitting proudly in the front row taking pictures.

 

Bruce frowns, feeling a migraine coming on. “And how many of these events is Damian entered in?”

 

“A lot. He's spending quite a bit of his allowance on cows at the moment.”

 

“That's supposed to be for designer clothing so he doesn’t end up looking like you!!” Bruce hisses.

 

Dick shrugs. “Hey, don't blame me, you’re the one who let him adopt Batcow in the first place.”

 

In the ring Damian glares daggers at Jon Kent as the young Kryptonian receives the first place ribbon

 

Bruce goes to every single cow show, and, to his delight, they finally discover the limits of Dick’s enthusiasm and he refrains from attending after the second show.  Bruce now has a designated block of time with a built in conversation topic that he can spend with his youngest son.

 

He takes Damian out for lunch after every show. It doesn’t take long for them to manage to find mutually interesting topics of conversation outside of agriculture.

 

 They bond over a love of minimalism, proper tailoring and a shared commitment to the idea that turtlenecks under suit jackets will never go out of style. Sometimes Damian makes his Father laugh, and sometimes Bruce makes Damian comfortable enough that he stands on his chair and shouts about the farming practices of ancient MesoAmericans. They both look forward to these meeting surrounded as they both are constantly by big loud outgoing personalities. It’s nice to have someone you can just sit quietly with and discuss engineering specs with (when you’re not sharing opinions of style or art).

 

It turns out they do have a lot in common.

 

Eventually, Tim can’t stand it anymore and informs Bruce about Jonah’s existence, location and use of his gym equipment.

 

Bruce Wayne even meets Jonah. It goes about as well as could have been reasonably expected, which is to say- terribly, but that doesn’t even really matter. Jonah never cared what Bruce Wayne thought of him.

 

Damian, Dick and Jonah are a family, and they look after each other.

 

They’re not normal. They never were, and they never will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last. Official. Chapter!!! There will be an epilogue and (maybe) and outakes chapter that mostly Dick's social media (idk). 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're all happy with where we've ended up. (Yes, Dick is watching the Greatest Showman, because of course he is). Also, I totally do think that Bruce and Damian have a lot of interests in common, it's just that the crime fighting/assassin thing gets in the way. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone whose kept up with this over the last year or so. I know there have been some long breaks in there, but I do appreciate it. This story was something I could always turn to as a way to cheer myself up, and everyone's lovely comments were a big part of that. Thanks!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I've been chipping away at this for ages and am finally starting posting. I hope those who liked the first one also like this, it's a little different. Try not to be put off by Damian this is the only chapter so far that is 100% his POV. 
> 
> Comments are always deeply appreciated!!!


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